PATRICK CUDAHY 



HIS LIFE 




Copyright N". 



copvRir.HT DEPosrr. 




Patrick Cii>.\uy 
1849- It) 12 



PATRICK CUDAHY 



His ^iit 



MILWAUKEE 

BuRDicK & Allen 
1912 



Copyright 1912 by 
Patrick Cudahy 
Milwaukee, Wis. 



Dedicated to 

My Old Sweetheart 

Anna M. Cudahy 



PREFACE. 



Please do not imagine that it is egotism or self- 
esteem that causes me to write this story of my life, for 
my story is the same that thousands of other men can 
tell, only much more flattering to themselves than what 
mine is. 

My purpose in doing so is, that I presumed it might 

be of interest to my children, or to their children, when I 

have passed away. It has also served as a pastime, and 

afforded me some pleasure to call up those old by-gone 

days. 

Patrick Cudahy. 



PATRICK CUDAHY: HIS LIFE 



CHAPTER I. 

I was born, so I have been told, in a little village or 
town named Callan, in the county of Kilkenny, Ireland, 
on the seventeenth day of March, 1849, which, as every- 
body knows, is St. Patrick's Day. Being born on St. 
Patrick's Day, they said I brought my name with me, 
so they named me Patrick. 

My father was left an orphan at about ten years of 
age and was adopted by a religious order known as Fran- 
ciscan Friars. He was known among the people of the 
town as the Priests' Boy. Those friars were a commun- 
ity something after the order of the Jesuits. They had 
no parish assigned to them, consequently were obliged to 
look for their means of support in a general way, prin- 
cipally from the farmers of the surrounding country. 
My father used to tell about what they called "questing 
expeditions." A couple of the priests, accompanied by 
their priests' boy, would mount horses and ride out into 
the country, visiting among the farmers in search of 
means of support, and it was very interesting to hear my 
father tell of his experiences in this way. Some of the 
farmers felt highly honored to have the priests call and 
would prepare quite a feast for them, while others, like 
the society lady, were "not at home." On Sundays my 
father also passed the contribution box, or as he styled it, 
"collected the pennies." In this way he had quite an 
opportunity of making sheep's eyes at the girls of the 



11 Patrick Ci'dahv 



parish, and he finally succeeded in securing one of the 
handsomest girls of the parish for a bride. 

She was the daughter of a man named John Shaw, 
who had a little pottery and made flower pots for those 
they styled "gentlemen" in the old country, holders of 
large estates, who had greenhouses, etc. John Shaw's 
daughter was a brunette, about ten years younger than 
my father, and, according to family talk later in life, I 
should judge she was something of a belle. She used 
to tell about the small shoes she wore, how she had to 
soap her stockings to get them on. It was good fun to 
hear my father and mother chairing one anotlier. My 
father would sometimes boast of the girls he might have 
had, and my mother claim that the only girl he ever 
knew, besides herself, was one of the dried-up, wrinkled- 
faced class of uncertain age. named Nellie Shasby. and 
he in turn would get back at her in the same manner. She 
certainly made him a splendid wife and a splendid mother 
to her children. She was the financial manager of the 
family. My father, as well as his sons, turned over 
their earnings each week to her and asked no questions. 

Grandfather Shaw was a chipi^er, bright sort of a 
man and was very proud of his pottery. He used to tell 
of a couple of priests who called on him on one occasion. 
One of the reverend gentlemen thought he would be 
witty, and on account of Shaw's trade — making articles 
from clay — said to him, "Shaw, you come nearer to the 
Creator than any other kind of work we know of." Shaw 
returned, "A potter's work, and a potter's air, no man 
but a potter can compare." He was very proud of the 
fact that he was admitted within the walls of some of 
those large estates. At one time he attended a celebra- 




-Mn Mi 111 I IK 




Mv 1'.\the:k 



His Life 15 

tion of the blooming- of a century plant, and I remember 
his telling about how the roof of the hot-house had to 
be opened so as to allow the stem of the plant to grow- 
through. 

During the years 1847-48-49 there was a famine in 
Ireland, owing to misgovernment, lack of employment, 
and the failure of the crops, and anybody that could 
scrape up money enough left there and came to America. 
As I have heard my mother say, years before the famine, 
when people were leaving Ireland, there was great sad- 
ness and sorrowing, but during the famine, wherever 
people had means enough to go away, sorrowing was 
changed to rejoicing. 

Grandfather Shaw sold out his pottery and business, 
for which he got something like five hundred pounds. He 
was the capitalist of the party and loaned my father 
enough money to take his family along with him to 
^^merica. They left Callan in June, 1849, three months 
after your humble servant saw the light of day. They 
took passage on a sailing vessel named the "Good Wind," 
but I have often heard my mother say that it should have 
been called the "Bad Wind," for they knocked about on 
the ocean for something like three months, lost their 
course, and had all kinds of trouble. The "Good Wind" 
was loaded with pig iron, and whenever she would roll 
from one side to the other there would be more or less 
rolling of the pig iron with her, I have often tried to 
imagine the sufferings of my dear mother taking care 
of an infant three months old under such conditions. 

They landed in Boston and came direct to Milwaukee 
by way of canal and lake, which was another long, tedi- 
ous journey. Milwaukee in those days was one of the 



ir» Patkick Cudahv 



boomed towns. Immigrant agents were sent east to pic- 
ture the "land of milk and honey," and they did so to 
the queen's taste. People were made to believe that they 
could pick up gold dollars on the streets in Milwaukee, 
but it certainly was a very sore disappointment when they 
reached their destination. 

Our lirst place of residence was somewhere about the 
corner of Eighth and Clybourn Streets, and in those days 
a man could get a fifty-foot lot in that neighborhood for 
a week's work. Grandfather Shaw had still in his pos- 
session something over two hundred pounds sterling, 
and if he had invested it in city lots at that time he would 
have made everyone belonging to him rich, but as the fel- 
low says, "If your foresight was as good as your hind- 
sight, you would know a great sight." 

We moved from this location out to what was then 
quite a distance in the country, into a little log cabin lo- 
cated directly south of what is now West, or Washing- 
ton Park. My father got employment with a man by 
the name of Beecher, who owned a farm and nursery. 
We lived there for probably five or six years, and I can 
remember well going to our nearest neighbor for milk. 
They were an American family by the name of Breed. 
Mr. Breed was short and chunky. He also carried around 
something of a corporation. The old lady was just the 
opposite, pale-faced, tall and slender, of very kindly dis- 
position, and I can today see her kind smile as she would 
give me the pail of milk free of charge. 

In those days there was very little employment to be 
had. as there were no factories or manufacturing of any 
kind. About the only employment was what was fur- 
nished by brickyards and railroad building. The first 



His Life 17 

portion of what is now the great Chicago, Milwaukee & 
St. Paul system was then being built as far as Waukesha. 
There was a brickyard located a short distance east of 
the Beecher farm. My father moved from the log cabin 
into a small cottage at a point which would now be 
Thirty-fourth Street and Cold Spring Avenue and found 
employment in this brickyard. 

The brickyard was owned by a man named Joseph 
Carney. The Carneys were Irish, but must have come to 
this country at a very early period, for the son, Joseph, 
was quite an American in his ways and spoke without 
any foreign accent. Joseph's mother was a tall, strong 
old lady, of the genuine Irish type. Both she and her 
husband used to smoke a pipe, and sometimes one of the 
pipes would disappear and it would get down to one pipe 
between the two. The old lady's name was Nell and the 
old man's name was Michael, but Mick for short, and 
when they were down to one pipe between them, it would 
be, "Mick, what did you do with the pipe?" and some- 
times there would be lively disputes as to who had it last. 
Mick w-as one of the old foxy Irish type of a man, and 
as his son Joe got to be something of a swell, it devolved 
on the old man to run the business. There were no 
trades unions in those days and the length of the day con- 
sisted in the length of daylight, it was from sunrise to 
sunset, and no pay for overtime. 

The manufacture of brick was very crude. The ma- 
chine was made by spiking three inch planks, about five 
feet long, together in the form of a box without ends. 
This box was set in a perj^endicular position. On the in- 
side were wooden spokes and a wooden shaft set in a 
socket at the bottom and also at the top, with wooden 



IS Patrick Cudahy 

spokes. On the lop of the shaft was attached a sweep, 
and a horse hitched to the end of this sweep went round 
and round. This machine did the grinding or mixing of 
the clay, the clay being shoveled in by hand with plenty 
of water thrown in with it. At the mouth of the ma- 
chine stood a man in a barrel sunk in the ground, and 
as the mud came out he took handfuls of it and slapped it 
into molds, scraping off the surplus mud with a stick 
made for the purpose. Then the molds were carried out 
and the brick were laid in the yard until ready to be 
placed in a kiln. 

Now, if there came a shower before those brick were 
put into what was known as hakes, the brick would be 
spoiled, and it was a generally understood thing that if 
there was any sign of rain the employees of the brickyard 
turned out and haked the brick, without pay, whether it 
was Sundays or nights, it made no difference. And old 
Mick Carney was not slow to take advantage of this vol- 
untary, or involuntary, service. Whenever a cloud 
appeared on the sky of a Sunday afternoon or in the 
evening before dark, he would go out drumming up the 
boys to come and hake the brick ; and the boys, knowing 
what they were to expect in case there was a cloud, gen- 
erally made themselves scarce. 

Most of the men that were married lived in cottages 
on the property adjacent to the brickyard, owned also by 
Carney. Then they had a large boarding place with a 
lot of bunks in it for the unmarried men. On the door 
of this boarding shanty where the boys bunked was a 
loose thumb latch that made a terrific noise when it was 
rattled. Old Mick w^as always up before daylight and 
one of the means he had of awakening the boys was to 



His Life 19 

rattle this latch, so they nicknamed him "Rattle-the- 
hasp." One devil among the crowd thought he would 
play a practical joke on the old man, so he got a shot 
gun, loaded it with a good sized charge of powder and 
arranged, by tying a string to the trigger, the other end 
to the hasp, so that it would discharge the gun when the 
old man came to rattle the hasp in the morning. It 
worked perfectly — the gun went off as planned — the old 
man, scared to death, dropped on his knees with his 
hands up in the air and recited several litanies before 
rising. Yet, although badly scared, it did not interfere 
with his rattling the hasp the next morning. 

This old man had a pair of lungs equal to any bellows 
that ever worked an organ. There was no steam whistle 
or bell to signal the men to begin or quit work. Old man 
Carney used to stand on the top of a knoll, make a kind 
of a funnel of his two hands, and yell "choo-oo" and 
you could hear that "choo-oo" for a mile around. 

The younger Carney, as I have already stated, like a 
great many other Irishmen, could not stand prosperity. 
The brick making business was quite profitable and they 
made plenty of money, but the young fellow had to have 
a couple of driving horses and finally got into politics, 
was elected a member of the state legislature, and be- 
tween fast horses, politics and whiskey, it did not take 
long to wind him up with a long string of creditors and 
little or nothing to meet his indebtedness. Some of the 
younger men that were employed by Carney were in- 
clined to allow their earnings to remain with him and 
when he failed, he was owing some of those men a hun- 
dred dollars or more, which was a lot of money in those 
days. There was not very much recourse to the courts 



20 Patrick Cudahv 



at that time. Physical force was resorted to oftener 
than courts, and I remember well one good, strong, husky 
fellow calling at regular intervals to give Carney a 
thrashing in order to get some of the money that was 
due him. Every time he whipped Carney or threatened 
to whip him, Carney gave the fellow some money. So 
finally things wound up by Carney skipping the country 
and going off to some place unknown to his creditors. 
Some said California, but nobody knew where. 

While I still have the brickyard in mind 1 must tell 
something that is quite comical. There was a slaughter- 
house adjacent to the brickyard which was used by the 
Milwaukee retail butchers. They bought their cattle in 
the country in small lots, brought them to the slaughter- 
house and killed them; and, by the way, it was in this 
slaughterhouse that my oldest brother, who is now in the 
pork packing business and is several times a millionaire, 
first got his insight, or taste, for the business, and in fact 
placed the rest of the brothers in the same line. 

Among the other animals around this slaughterhouse 
there was one particular animal that no one laid claim to. 
It was an old boar, and this old boar used to go about 
and do about as he saw fit. One of his favorite walks 
was over into Carney's brickyard, and occasionally he 
would get onto the soft brick, walk about on them dur- 
ing the night, and, of course, spoil quite a bit of prop- 
erty. Carney notified the slaughterhouse people that un- 
less they kept that dashed hog at home he would shoot 
him, but as nobody in particular claimed the ownership 
of Mr. Boar, nobody paid any attention to Carney's 
threat. So a night or two after the aforesaid threat, Mr. 
Boar, in his walks, took in the brickyard again. Carney 



His Life 21 

was laying for him, brought out his double barreled shot 
gun, loaded with buckshot, and fired, and I presume he 
imagined that he would have some fresh pork for break- 
fast, but instead of that, our old gentleman hog simply 
gave a grunt and walked off as though he never was hit 
at all. Anybody that understands what a boar's hide is 
will not criticise this statement as to its truthfulness. 

My father and one of my brothers worked for Car- 
ney in the brickyard. The character of the men that 
were employed at such work those days was very differ- 
ent from the character of the men that are employed at 
such work today, for, as I have stated before, it was 
about the only employment there was at the time. Some 
highly educated men, as well as men that had once seen 
good times, left their homes in the East and came West 
and were obliged to go into brickyards, or anywhere they 
could, to make a living. 

Directly in front of our little cottage was a piece of 
heavy timber land. Some of the trees would cut three 
cords of wood. It was commonly called Cudahy's 
woods. The owner of it I think was an eastern party, 
but my father assumed ownership and whenever a tree 
blew down he was ready with his axe to cut it into fire- 
wood, and if anybody else turned up and wanted one of 
those trees he would order them off. 

My brother and myself one day got some of the offal 
from the slaughterhouse, such as lungs, livers, etc., and 
gathering some sticks and branches, made a toy shop 
alongside of an old fallen tree three or four feet in diam- 
eter, near our house, and went through the form of keep- 
ing a butcher market, or, in other words, we played 
butcher market. 



22 Patrick CroAiiv 



The next day my mother, after washing and wringing 
out a towel, snapped it in the air to take the wrinkles out 
of it, making a report which started up a big black bear 
from where we had our butcher shop the day before. Mr. 
Bruin was having a feast all by himself. He ran off 
through the woods, and the men in the brickyard, on 
hearing about it, left their work, picked up shovels, picks, 
or anything they could get hold of, to chase the bear. 
Finally an old fanner, who was in the habit of shooting 
deer in the wintertime, put an end to Mr. Bruin and also 
to the excitement, with his rifle. 

The bear incident illustrates how thinly settled the 
country, which is now a part of a great city, was at that 
time. It was a common thing to have Indian callers at 
your house, tratlinj:;- baskets, beads, etc., for food. 

My father was a very simple, honest Irishman. To 
illustrate : He and I were out walking one winter day 
and he found a very handsome shawl that fell out of 
some sleigh in which some well dressed woman was rid- 
ing, and instead of bringing the shawl home and waiting 
for the owner to call for it, he hung it up on a rail fence 
near the spot where he found it, feeling that he had no 
right to take it with him. I have often heard about 
people being so honest that they lean backward, and I 
think my father must have been troubled that way. When 
he got home he told about his experience and received a 
curtain lecture from my mother for being so foolish. 

There were no such things as delivery wagons for 
delivering meats or groceries at that time. The house- 
keeper had to take her basket on her arm and carry home 
her purchases. From where we lived to the first store in 
the city was a good three miles, and my mother used to 



His Life 23 

tramp that distance back and forth and carry home her 
large basketful on her arm. Whenever she happened to 
be late in getting home, some of us would be out to meet 
her half way and help to carry the load. I remember 
one evening my father took me with him for that pur- 
pose, and as I was only a child he thought it was rather 
hard on me to walk so far, so he picked me up and car- 
ried me for a short distance. Just then a man came along 
with a horse and wagon and father pitched me in the 
hind end of the wagon, thinking he would walk behind. 
The fellow must have been a pretty mean kind of a chap, 
for as soon as he got me into the wagon he whipped up 
the horse and drove away and left my father running as 
fast as his legs could carry him behind, yelling out, "Let 
out my boy. Let out my boy." I seemed to have had 
sense enough myself to take in the situation, for I 
jumped out the hind end, or rather tumbled myself out 
in a bundle on the road. 

About this time father bought a clock, and I want 
you to understand that a clock was quite a dignified piece 
of furniture in those days. People that could afford to 
buy clocks were considered working up. The clock was 
one of the old fashioned square kind, with a couple of 
heavy iron weights that were hung on fish cord. It was 
wound with a key made in the shape of a crank. The 
space between the floor and ceiling of our cottage must 
have been fully fourteen feet, and father fastened the 
clock to the wall, or placed it on a shelf, snug up to the 
ceiling, so that when he went to wind it he was obliged 
to stand on a chair to reach it. Presume his object in 
hanging it so high was to place it in a position where the 
youngsters could not get at it. 



24 Patrick Cudahy 



The winiling of this clock was as regular as though 
automatic. He wound it e\ery night just before going 
to bed at nine o'clock. Like all other clocks, of course, it 
got out of repair now and then and would not keep 
proper time. We had a man in the neighborhood, a sort 
of jack-of-all-trades, named Kelch, and whenever the 
clock got out of repair, Kelch was called in. The clock 
was taken down off the shelf, laid on its back on the table, 
and Kelch would take some of the wheels apart, get a 
bottle of castor oil or goose oil, or something like that, 
and with a goose feather proceed to oil up the clock. This 
was quite a piece of work and Kelch generally had an 
audience. If the weather was real warm and the flies 
were kept out of it, the clock would continue to run, but 
if it got cold the oil or grease got hard and the clock 
balked. 

I had this old clock in my possession at the time that 
I got married, but my wife was not much of a hand for 
heirlooms and it disappeared, where, I know not. 



CHAPTER 11. 

As employment in the brickyard was only for a short 
period during the summer, the men were obliged to save 
up what they could during the summer season and put in 
supplies to take care of them for the winter. Outside of 
the brickyard there was little to do, only chopping cord 
wood for fifty cents a cord, so my father bought quite a 
piece of standing timber from our friend Breed, which 
he chopped and sold. I was his partner at the chopping. 
There was a great deal of snow that winter and when a 
tree was chopped down it would pretty nearly bury itself 
in the snow, so the first thing that was to be done was to 
dig away the snow in order to work at the tree. As 
soon as the snow was shoveled away my father got at the 
trunk of the tree and I at the limbs. 1 chopped off the 
limbs and cut them in four-foot lengths, piled up the 
brush, and after he had split the logs into cord wood I 
did the piling. The weather was dreadfully cold and the 
sap was frozen in the wood. The iron wedges with 
which we split the logs were like ice, so when one at- 
tempted to drive the wedge into a log it would bound ten 
feet in the air after each blow with a mall. To over- 
come this, we had to make a fire and heat the wedges. 
We also found a fire necessary to thaw out our coffee, 
which was frozen into a solid chunk. Our bread, too, 
froze and we had to cut it in little square pieces with the 
axe in order to eat it. 

25 



2C> Patrick Cudahy 



This may all sound like a good deal of hardship, yet 
we did not seem to mind it and rather enjoyed our work. 
I do not think that I was over ten years old at the time I 
was helping to chop this wood. Such a thing as getting 
a boy ten years old nowadays to undertake such hardship 
is out of the question. If there was such a thing it would 
be written up in the papers in large headlines. 

After telling this story of hardship I can also tell of 
a good many pleasant days, for it was in the neighbor- 
hood of Carney's brickyard that I spent my boyhood 
days. Through the woods and meadows on a farm near- 
by ran quite a stream, where we used to go lishing with 
bent pins for hooks. This little stream was full of bass 
and bullheads, large turtles, and occasionally we saw a 
large black water snake sunning himself out on the bank 
of the stream. In the spring of the year, during what 
we called the freshets, those streams would fill up and 
large fish, known as suckers, would swim up from Lake 
Michigan to spawn. The neighbors and farmers all 
around would turn out and go fishing for two weeks dur- 
ing this sucker season. 

The suckers were caught with a square dip net, made 
with two hickory bows crossed and the net fastened to 
the ends of the bows. This net was dipptd into the 
stream and hoisted out again every little while. If there 
was a fish, or a number of fish, passing over the net at 
the time it was lifted out, they were caught. The fisher- 
men built campfires all along the stream and camped out 
until twelve o'clock at night, and sometimes all night, 
fishing. 

The red glow of the campfires burning at intervals on 
the edge of the little river and the fishermen moving 



His Life 27 

quietly about, dipping and hoisting the nets, the splash of 
the water and shouts when a good haul was made, all 
made quite a picture, especially on the mind of a young 
boy, as I was then. 

One family of boys that I used to play with, by the 
name of Kirk, quite a numerous family, had one boy who 
used to stammer terribly, so much so that it was painful 
to look at him making faces while trying to talk. During 
this fishing season, if he saw some of those large fish in 
the water, he would get so excited that one could not 
understand a word he said. He went off something after 
this fashion, "Yook-yook-yook 3ate-yite-yite in th-there. 
S'saw yate bid sutter yun yi-yite onder yot yog.'' 

The Kirks were north of Ireland people and the old 
lady could quote scripture by the yard. She was one of 
the slovenly kind that would sooner tie a knot in her skirt 
than put a stitch in it. They subscribed for the "New 
York Ledger," which was a very popular weekly at that 
time, containing continued stories, and she put in most of 
her time reading the New York Ledger. She would say 
that it did not make much difference about the back, but 
the belly had to be kept up, meaning that it did not mat- 
ter what she had to wear, as long as she had something 
good to eat, and she looked it. The poor old drudge of 
a man was at work all the time and was a fair wage 
earner, but they always appeared poverty stricken. 

The Kirk boys and I used to run together and fish and 
swim and play, as boys always did play and always will. 
One day we went to what was known as the old Cold 
Spring House, which was run by a man named Borum. 
Borum was an old sport. He kept a meat market in the 
city before he became proprietor of the Cold Spring 



28 Patrick Cudahy 



House and people used to tell this about him : that if any 
fellow who was handy with his fists came into his shop, 
Borum and he would spar a bout, no matter how many 
customers were waiting to be waited upon. 

Borum got the oldest Kirk boy and myself, made a 
ring for us and set us sparing. We punched each other 
until I got a bloody nose, then I begged my opponent to 
wait until I had stopped the blood, when I went at him 
again and fought it out to a finish. I was somewhat 
heavier, and although Borum called it a draw, I think 
that Kirk got a little the worst of the fight. 

When I was about eight years old I was packed oft* 
to school. The school was in a small frame building, 
contained but one room, twenty feet by forty feet, with 
desks in the rear end and one bench down along the wall 
in front. Our teacher was a woman of about forty, a 
very fine looking person, named Pendergrass. There 
was only one other of my own size and age attending the 
school. She was a rolly-poly little German girl with the 
waist of her dress up under her arms. The teacher did 
not dignify us enough to put us in a class, but had us 
recite at her knee while she sat in a chair, yet there was 
rivalry enough between my little German friend and my- 
self to make me work good and hard. 

This Miss Pendergrass boarded with a family named 
Rood. There were three of the Rood girls and their 
brother, attending the school. The girls were young 
ladies of twenty and over and the brother was probably 
sixteen. It was in the summertime, and a large square 
stove that had been used for a heater during the previous 
winter still remained out in the middle of the floor. The 
Rood boy had done something that was not just proper, 



His Life 29 

and the teacher, in order to punish him, called him out 
and sentenced him to sit on top of the stove for a certain 
number of minutes. The second oldest of the Rood girls 
became infuriated at the sight of her brother sitting on 
the stove and went out to the teacher and demanded of 
her that she release the brother. The teacher refused, 
whereupon Maria let go with a third reader and hit the 
teacher over the right eye, blackening her eye as much as 
if she had been through a fight in the slums. 

I am now sixty-two years old and have related a num- 
ber of little sensations that occurred between the time that 
I was five and ten years of age, and I remember them as 
vividly as if it were yesterday. I have a theory of my 
own about this long distance memory, which is, that all 
the startling events in one's life, especially when young, 
are photographed on the brain, otherwise we would not 
remember things that happened fifty years ago and for- 
get things that happened last week. 

My Grandfather Shaw became somewhat broken up 
and dissatisfied on account of breaking up his home in 
the old country and he was rather a disagreeable cus- 
tomer to live with. He went off, out to a country town, 
and started in the fruit business, and, being of a trading 
disposition, he made money. His wife came to live with 
us, and when my mother went shopping or was absent 
from home, the old lady took her place as proprietor. 

I can remember on one particular occasion, when I 
was out romping around with some other boys, and re- 
turning home in the evening, after being a good-for- 
nothing loafer all day, the old lady met me with a smile, 
but as soon as she got her hand well fastened in my hair, 
the smile vanished and I got a good thrashing. I do not 



no Patuick Cudaiiv 



think I ever felt so mean about anything as I did about 
that thrashing. It was not the thrashing so much as the 
deceitful way she got hold of me. 

Right near where we lived was a farmer named Bag- 
ley and on this farm was a small pond, i. c., the surface 
was small, but it was quite deep. My younger brother 
and I, instead of going to church like good boys, went 
over to Bagley's pond with our skates on a Sunday morn- 
ing in March, and as the ice was of the thin, rubbery kind 
that we sometimes have in spring, we had a good deal 
of fun in trying to break in. Before we gave up, we 
succeeded in breaking through in about the middle of the 
pond. When we came up we caught onto the ice, but it 
being weak, every time we got a hold it broke off and 
down we went. One of the boys got a long pole and 
after several attempts fmally got us out. Our cold wet 
clothes and the fear of punishment made us two very 
miserable boys and we went home shivering like a pair 
of drowned rats. However, when we related our terrible 
experience, they were so happy that we were not drowned 
that instead of giving us a thrashing we were treated 
fairly well, given dry clothes, put to bed, and also given 
hot drinks and made generally comfortable. 

Miller's Brewery, which is now quite a large con- 
cern, was then a small two-story frame building, located 
on the Watertown Plank Road, about a half mile east of 
what is now Thirty-fourth Street. In connection with 
the brewery was quite a large bar-room, which was a 
meeting place for Wauwatosa politicians, and as the 
Carney brickyard was located in W'auwatosa, the em- 
ployees cut quite a figure in politics. I remember going 
there with my father one time when I was a youngster, 



His Life 31 

to attend one of those caucuses. There was any amount 
of speech-making, such as it was, on both sides, and, of 
course, plenty of the amber-colored liquid to inspire en- 
thusiasm. The meeting, as it has occurred at a great 
many other meetings, broke up in a row or a general 
pitched battle all around. There were bloody noses, torn 
shirts and all sorts of mishaps. I was too young, of 
course, to remember what the discussion was about, but 
do not suppose it was anything of any great importance, 
only a chance for a general scrap. 

A German farmer named Ebel, who lived about a 
mile west of the brewery, was the leading light in politics 
on the democratic ticket and chairman of the meeting. 
I can remember the way he would put a motion, in a sort 
of a sing-song tone, "All that is in favor, say I, contrary 
no." 

After working a couple of years in the brickyard, the 
work being very hard and trying, my mother persuaded 
my father to look around for something else. He got 
employment with a farmer named Parker, who had a 
small farm and nursery combined, raising vegetables and 
garden truck. He had a large patch of carrots and my 
father was engaged in hoeing and thinning out those car- 
rots, and on days when there was no school he would 
take me with him and I volunteered my services at the 
weeding and thinning of the carrots, free of charge. 

Mrs. Parker was a kind-hearted old lady of what we 
would call the Yankee type. When she saw that I was 
out in the field with my father, she brought me a large 
chunk of fine gingerbread and a glass of milk for lunch, 
about ten o'clock. This she did for two or three days 
in succession. I began to think that in order to be dig- 



32 Patrick Cudahy 



nified or independent, or not considered a pauper, I must 
decline the nice lunch. She tried to prevail upon me to 
accept it, but after saying no, I stuck to it, thanked her 
very much, but said I did not wish for it, and, of course, 
that ended my nice lunch. The old lady never attempted 
to force it on me again and I never was so sorry for any- 
thing I ever did in my life as I was for refusing to ac- 
cept the old lady's hospitality. 

S]3eaking of this Mr. Parker, he was one of the old 
time dyed-in-the-wool republicans, and my father, being 
a Roman Catholic and an Irishman, of course, must be a 
dyed-in-the-wool democrat. The voting precinct was in 
the village of Wauwatosa, and on election day my father 
rode out to the village with Mr. Parker, got out of his 
buggy, shook hands with his democratic friends and 
voted the democratic ticket. At one time there was some 
issue which was cjuite exciting and each vote was con- 
sidered of great importance, and I think Mr. Parker 
endeavored, in a mild way, to influence my father to vote 
the republican ticket, but, of course, it was no go. 

Our friend Carney, the brickmaker, who was some- 
thing of a politician, was on the ground soliciting demo- 
cratic votes. Jle met Mr. P'arker, and saluting him, 
asked, "Where is your man Cudahy today?" Mr. Parker 
replied, "He is my man every day but election day, and 
on election day he is yours." 

My father learned of the conversation and was some- 
what disturbed, fearing that possibly Parker's disappoint- 
ment might result in losing his job, but after election was 
over, party feeling vanished and they were once more 
as good friends as ever. 

The Civil War broke out while we were still living 



His Life 33 

in the old cottage, and what was known in those days as 
the Fair Grounds was converted into a mihtary camp. 
The southwest corner of the camp ground was within 
two or three hundred feet of our cottage and I was back 
and forth among the soldiers during the first years of 
the war. I have very vivid recollections of the drilling 
of the men and the punishment of the unruly ones in the 
guard house, etc. Being a youngster, about twelve years 
of age, I was allowed to poke about anywhere I wanted. 

Speaking of this old camp ground, there was a nice 
little butternut grove right in the southwest corner and 
before it was converted into a camp for soldiers, we boys 
used to make use of the grove as a playground and gather 
nuts. I remember one Sunday several well dressed men 
came out from the city in a rig. 1 was rambling through 
the grove and had stopped to knock down some butter- 
nuts. The men asked me if I would crack some of the 
nuts for them, w^hich I readily volunteered to do. After 
cracking nuts for probably half an hour, one of them 
gave me a silver dollar. I do not think any sum of 
money ever looked so big to me as that dollar did. I ran 
away home as fast as my legs could carry me and gave 
the dollar to my mother, and I tell you it made me feel 
happy to do so. 

Often have I thought of the cause and effect of where 
people are poor and of the homes from which spring the 
self-made men of the country. The father and mother 
of a large family in times such as I have been telling 
about, sit around the fireside at night and the subject for 
conversation or discussion is, what are w^e going to do to 
provide for the winter; where are we going to get the 
wherewith? The boys of five or six years and up to 



34 Patrick Cudaiiv 



fourteen or fifteen are sitting about, drinking in the 
father's and mother's conversation and feel part of the 
distress themselves, and if it were possible for them to 
assist in any way, nothing would give them greater 
pleasure, that is, if they are made of the right stuff. So 
as soon as an opportunity presents itself this young bare- 
foot boy is only too glad to take advantage of it to help 
the family. This is the grinding that we generally speak 
of, that makes the man. 

Now we will take that youngster and follow him 
along until he becomes a successful business man and 
accumulated some wealth, in case that such has been his 
good fortune. We will take his fireside and his family ; 
the subject is not, where are we going to provide means 
to get through the winter, but, what is there in the the- 
aters tonight ; where will we go to have a good time ? The 
fashions are discussed, different places of amusement, 
different excursions, etc., etc. And his sons drink in 
this atmosphere instead of the one that he himself drank 
in when he was young. So who can blame the boy of 
the well-to-do father if he is not the same success that 
the father has been? It is an old saying, "Necessity is 
the mother of invention," and so poverty has been the 
making of many a prosperous man. 

There being eight in the family, including the grand- 
mother and the children and the times being such as I 
have described, it was necessary for my oldest brother to 
go out and hustle to help to support the family, a\ hen he 
was a mere boy. He had very little opportunity for 
going to school. It was work when you could get work 
and go to school when you could not. In fact, that was 
the case with all of us, but especially so in his case. Yet 



His Life 35 

he was so ambitious for an education and made such 
good use of his time, whatever he had to spare, that he 
became a fairly well educated man, so much so that later 
in life, as he appeared in society, he might be taken for 
a college graduate. He was a great student and a great 
reader. When he was about sixteen years of age he 
would study at home at night and also conduct a sort of 
a night school for the other brothers, as well as a couple 
of boys of the neighborhood. 

Among them was a big strapping Irish chap named 
Kelley, who just landed from Ireland at the age of 
twenty, without any education whatever. My brother 
took him in hand and taught him his letters, and after 
Kelley got a taste of learning he was about as ambitious 
as anybody could be, to advance himself and did so fair- 
ly well, at least to the extent of reading, spelling, writing 
and arithmetic. 

Speaking again of my oldest brother, he was always 
more of a father to the rest of us boys than what our 
father was. Our father being a simple kind of a man, 
my oldest brother seemed to feel that it devolved upon 
him to help steer the ship. 

About this very time that I speak of, when he was 
sixteen years old, John Plankinton had platted a piece of 
land into city lots, lying west of Twelfth Street and 
north of Chestnut Street and as the sale of the lots was 
very slow, he offered as an inducement, employment to 
anyone who would purchase one of the lots, paying for it 
with a portion of his weekly earnings. My father was 
very much taken with the proposition and thought it 
would be a good way of getting a home, but my oldest 
brother objected, saying to my father, "It would be a 



r*ATR]CK CUDAIIV 



great mistake for you to buy a lot and settle in that part 
of the city. You have a large family of boys and there 
is no end of temptation over there in the way of Satur- 
day night dances, beer saloons, etc., and although you 
might acquire a home, it would probably be the ruination 
of some of your boys." 

I could not have been over eight years old at the time, 
yet I remember distinctly the words that passed between 
father and son, and it struck me at the time as being a 
wise position that my oldest brother took and rather an 
odd one, coming from a son to a father. 

This has been his position all through life, a sort of a 
father in the way of giving advice or calling us down 
whenever, in his judgment, we were making mistakes. 
When I was young I rather resented the interference. 
Boylike, I thought I could take care of myself. But as I 
became older and was able to analyze the situation of the 
past and appreciate the benefit derived from his sugges- 
tions and advice, I have always felt very grateful to him, 
and always shall, as long as I live, for whatever success 
I have met with can be attributed in a large measure to 
his guidance and watchfulness. 

In about the year 18G3 my father rented a small farm 
of about thirty acres, lying between the Watertown 
Plank Road and Spring Street, west of what is now 
Thirty-fourth Street, joining the Parker farm. He pas- 
tured cattle on this piece of ground and raised a little of 
everything in the farm line. 

One of the cows was owned by a Mr. Carpenter, who 
lived on Eighth Street near Sycamore, and it was my 
duty to drive the cow back and forth every day. I took 
her home evenings and went for her in the morning. I 



His Life 37 

went barefooted, but I had a fancy red shirt trimmed 
with some kind of a braid, and Idon't think any mihtary 
officer was ever prouder of his epaulets than I was of 
that red shirt. 

There was also a very nice orchard of apple trees 
and these apples brought in quite a bit of money. I think 
my father enjoyed this bit of land and the fact that he 
was proprietor of it very much. While father was pro- 
prietor of this little farm I also felt quite proud, watch- 
ing the orchard so as to prevent the boys from stealing 
the apples, which were of fine quality at that time. I 
did not know any of the apples by name, but I remember 
one tree which bore apples that were very juicy, having 
a sort of a stimulating effect ; so my 'younger brother 
and myself named the apples from this tree, whiskey 
apples. The little farm changed ownership and my 
father vacated it and moved to Palmer's addition, where 
he purchased a home. 

We boys at that time used to go swimming in the 
Menominee River, which was quite a river at that time. 
It now passes through Pigsville, but is an insignificant 
little stream, nearly dries up during the summer season. 
On our way to the river to swim, we had to pass our old 
orchard. It was fenced witli the old fashioned rail 
fence, and being one of the boys on the outside of the 
fence now, thought I would hop over and enjoy the sen- 
sation of stealing apples. I hadn't more than gotten 
over the fence when the new proprietor came after me 
with his dog. I cleared the fence with a bound and he 
and the dog after me. I never looked back until I had 
gotten out to Storey's. Then I looked over my shoulder, 
but the farmer, nor his dog, were nowhere to be seen. 



38 Patrick Cudahy 



Bet I ran faster than tlie famous Nancy Hanks ever did. 

I was a lad of thirteen at this time ajid my mother 
thought it would be a good idea to put me at work in a 
grocery store where I would get some business training. 
She being a good customer of a man named Heinecke — 
one of God's chosen people, who kept a store on the 
corner of Fifth and Spring Streets (now Grand Ave- 
nue) — got me a job there. My wages were one dollar 
and a half a week, or twenty-five cents a day, without 
board. My duties were to wait on customers in the fore- 
noon and deliver goods with a two-wheeled hand-cart in 
the afternoon. This being my first experience away 
from home, I became terribly homesick, although I went 
home every night. 

I was a green country chap, for we had always lived 
on the outskirts of the city. One day I was sent to de- 
liver a package at the residence of the Episcopalian min- 
ister of St. James Church. Not knowing any better. I 
either rapped on the front door, or rang the bell, do not 
remember which. The lady of the house opened the 
door and gave me the fiercest look I think I ever got, and 
ordered me around to the back door, asking me if I did 
not know any better than to deliver groceries at the front 
door. I tell you it taught me a lesson that I did not for- 
get, so from that on I knew^ better than to go to anybody's 
front door with groceries. 

Heinecke was one of the foxy kind and if there was 
a large order to be delivered at any great distance he 
would keep it for the last thing in the evening, so that 
there would be no chance for any loafing or soldiering. 
On one occasion he sent me out with a barrel of tlour, 
bag of potatoes, and a lot of other groceries loaded in 



His Life 39 

my cart, to be delivered to a party over on Grove and 
about Greenfield Avenue. I had the party's name and 
street number, but being a greeny, I continued to ask 
everybody I met where such a man lived and where such 
a number was, until finally T found the house. 

On the way home a terrible thunder storm came up 
and I was caught in the rain and was so scared and so 
anxious to get home I did not stop for anything, but con- 
tinued right on on a dog trot, pushing my cart ahead of 
me, until I got back to the grocery store, where I left my 
cart and started for home, reaching there about nine 
o'clock at night, thoroughly drenched and frightened. 
This ended my occupation as a grocer's clerk, for I was 
so disgusted with my job that my mother could not per- 
suade me to go back again. 

Now I want to tell you more about our friend Kelley 
who I told you attended my brother's night school. 

After acquiring a little learning in that way, he went 
to a public school, which I also attended at the same time. 
It was located (and the building is still standing, now 
used as a residence ) directly opposite the Soldiers' Home 
Gate on the Blue Mound Road. Kelley by this time had 
grown a chin whisker, and the teacher, a Miss Jones, was 
a frail little creature about twenty years old, but in those 
days, as I have already said, boys worked when there 
was any work to be had, which was generally in the sum- 
mertime, and attended school in the winter; so Miss 
Jones had a number of able bodied men in her school, 
who were four or five years her senior. 

This Kelley was a powerful fellow, and along with it, 
somewhat of a bully. He wanted it understood that he 
could whip anybody in the school, and there was nobody 



{0 Patrick CroAnv 



tliat really questioned that position, except one dried up 
fellow named Marseilles. Marseilles would not acknowl- 
cdi^c Kellcv's sui)reniacy. nor would he flight iiini. I 
have seen Kelley tease him and twit him and almost pull 
his nose, yet Marseilles would not fight, nor yet was 
Kelley satisfied without giving him a thrashing. 

One day in the spring of the year some of the boys 
cut off some little twigs, for what purpose I do not know, 
but Kelley did likewise, filled his pockets with little twigs, 
probably two inches in length, brought them in and put 
them in his desk. During school hours he was chewing 
one of the twigs. The teacher went up to him and said, 
''John, what have you got there?" "A few little twigs, 
ma'am," he answered. "Give them to me." Miss Jones 
requested. John, or Jack, as we used to call him. handed 
her one of the twigs. "Have you any more. John?" the 
teacher asked. Politely John answered, "Yes, ma'am." 
Again the teacher said, "Give them to me." And this 
continued on for as long as fifteen minutes until Miss 
Jones had her hand full of twigs and there were still 
some left. 

In this little school, which consisted only of one room, 
the custom, when the reading lesson was called, was for 
all in that class to walk out into the open part of the 
schoolroom, where there was a long bench and. beginning 
at the head of the class, each one read a verse or para- 
graph. The remainder of the class sat on the bench and 
kept their eyes on their books, following the reader and 
when he or she got through, the others would announce 
or make known the mistakes the reader had made, and, 
of course, there was some credit mark for the one that 
discovered the most mistakes. 



His I.ife 41 

When it came to Kelley's turn to read he did not 
seem to pay much attention to lowering his voice or rais- 
ing his voice at the proper marks, so that almost every- 
one in the class would be yelling out Kelley's mistakes. 
It would be "He called it, is." "Left out it," "Didn't 
raise his voice," "Didn't lower his voice," etc., etc. This 
aggravated Kelley and he would say out loud, "O, hear 
the little divils, 'He called it, is,' what a terrible mistake. 
'Didn't raise his voice, didn't lower his voice,' isn't that 
terrible!" 

Miss Jones would strike an attitude and put on the 
most stern face she could muster up and call out, "John, 
you must not talk out loud in school hours." John would 
say, "All right, ma'am, I won't do it again, ma'am." But 
the next day the same fun was repeated. 

Kelley had a lot of what we might call Irish cunning 
and natural intelligence. He married a nice young girl, 
accumulated quite a bit of money and, as I learned after- 
ward, was quite comfortable in life. 

Before we leave the little cottage I have another sen- 
sation to relate. It was there my youngest brother was 
born. I do not remember just now in what month, but 
I know it was good and cold, and as old Irish people 
have a great sense of propriety about not having male 
members of the family about the house at such an event, 
one of my brothers and I were hustled out about mid- 
night, not knowing the cause. We went to our friend 
Kelley's cottage and spent the night there, for Kelley's 
mother, a widow, was over at our house attending the 
reception of the new arrival, for in those days there was 
no so much fuss made over matters of that kind, and 
the neighbors generally lent a hand. 



42 Patrick Cuoahy 



We had our breakfast at Kelley's and the notorious 
Jack cooked it himself. He had had a medium sized 
black pig that ran about the neighborhood, which he 
named the Black Stud. He had slaughtered and packed 
in a barrel, this black pig a short time prior to this event, 
and as we got up in the morning and Kelley was about to 
prepare the breakfast, he said, "Byes, I'm goin' to give 
yees a piece of the Black Stud fer breakfast." He fried 
some of it in a pan and we boys enjoyed our breakfast 
very much. 

In due time we were admitted back to our home and 
everything went lovely. 



CHAPTER III. 

I have now come to my first experience in the pack- 
ing business, which was with Edward Roddis, who was 
an EngHshman engaged in the beef and pork packing 
business. The business at that time was largely in beef. 
It was packed in tierces, three hundred and four pounds 
to the tierce, packed especially for the British navy. 

The hog slaughtering in those days was all done by 
the farmers in the country. The hogs were shipped in 
by country merchants to commission men in the city and 
again sold by the commission men to the packers. They 
were generally frozen as hard as ice and in order to get 
the frost out of them, they were hung on hooks in a 
steam-tight room and when the room was full, loose 
steam was turned on and continued so until they were 
thawed out. Naturally the larger hog would take longer 
to thaw than the smaller one would, so by the time the 
large hog was thawed out, the small hog was partly 
cooked. 

Roddis, being an Englishman, undertook to make 
English cuts out of the smaller of those hogs, but by the 
time it was supposed to be cured and fit for packing, the 
most of it was almost rotten from the cooking it got in 
the steam room. I have seen wagon loads and wagon 
loads of it hauled out from their place on West Water 
Street to the Menominee Valley and there tanked into 
grease. Yet they did not know the cause of the spoiling 

43 



44 Patrick Cudahv 



of the meat, nor did 1 at the time, but later in life my 
own experience taught mc. and it all appeared clear to 
me why it was tliat Roddis had so much spoiled meat. 

I was still a boy, and my occupation there was to 
carry the scrap, or offal meat, from the trimming benches 
down the stairs to a retail market, that was conducted in 
the front end of the building. There were no elevators, 
nor any way of doing things as they should have been 
done in those days, so I had a large wooden bucket that 
would hold about twenty-five pounds of meat and this I 
lugged downstairs and trotted back for another one, all 
day long. 

My wages were three dollars per week. My boss, 
whose name was Roe, was the man who did the retailing. 
He was a brother-in-law of Roddis and was a crusty old 
bachelor about fifty years old, with a bad case of gout. 
He generally had his shoes about two sizes too large, then 
cut in strips like ribbons of leather in order to give his 
poor old toes some relief. Owing to the gout and general 
disposition of bachelors, he was very cross, in fact, he 
rarely, if ever, said a kind word to poor me, and if he 
ran out of meat, whether there was any for me to bring 
down or not, when I showed up I got a good tongue 
thrashing. 

He must have been about as ugly at home in Roddis' 
house with the servants as he was with me, for it was 
the custom to send his dinner down from the Roddis 
house with the coachman, and on one particular occasion 
he must have had a bad case of gout the night before, and 
must have made it very unpleasant for the servants, for 
when his dinner arrived it w'as packed in a vessel and 
wrapped up with several nice white napkins. He went 



His Life 45 

out to the sleigh and brought it in, unwrapped the differ- 
ent nice white napkins, but when he got down to the 
vessel, low and behold it was one of those vessels that 
are kept under the bed at night. 

The girls must have made up their minds to leave 
and thought they would give Dan Roe a parting shot. 
The poor old fellow did not have sense enough to keep 
the practical joke to himself, but went about among the 
men, telling what a miserable trick was played on him, 
and, of course, everybody enjoyed the joke. 

I presume that Mr. Roddis' fame as a wealthy packer 
and employer of men was spread broadcast among his 
home people in England, for every year brought out a 
contingent of green Englishmen that applied for work 
and were generally taken care of. They certainly were 
the greenest set of all the greenhorns that ever left the 
old country. 

The Roddis packing house had a large soup kitchen 
where they made very good oxtail soup and gave the 
men a free lunch about half past nine every forenoon. 
The whistle blew, and the men made a grand dash for 
the lunch kitchen, drank their soup and gobbled down a 
bit of bread with it, as fast as they could, for the time 
was very limited. There was one big gawky Englishman 
among the bunch, who had a lot of pimples on his fore- 
head. In eating his lunch he had a habit of opening his 
mouth very wide, working his jaws as though he had 
never had a mouthful to eat. Quite a few of us chaps 
got to watching him and could not keep from laughing. 
He noticed it and thought we were laughing at the pim- 
ples on his forehead, and to explain he said, "I sleep wi' 
a Yahnkee and the bugger keeps the window oop, mos- 



Patuick Cudaiiv 



quitoes boit nie." This, of course, gave rise to another 
good laugh. 

Those Eughshmeii, although about the most con- 
ceited of people, were about the most useless, with their 
big clog shoes and stiff way of getting about. 

The superintendent of the Roddis house was also an 
Englishman, but of the Americanized type, whose name 
was Johnson. He was a hustling kind of a fellow, but 
did not know very much about the packing business. He 
was also something of an old spurt and was always nos- 
ing around among the men's wives who carried their 
husbands' dinners. 

There happened to be one handsome looking woman 
in the bunch and it was not very long until we noticed 
that her husband was promoted to the position of fore- 
man of a gang for dry salting meat. Johnson also found 
it necessary to have this man work a good deal of over- 
time, so that he was obliged to work until ten and eleven 
o'clock at night. This continued on, and it was the gen- 
eral gossip among the men, in a whispered way. it was 
not very long until another man turned up, a Danish 
sailor, who also claimed to be the beauty's husband. He 
also was placed at the head of a gang and also had to 
work late at night. She must have been an artist in her 
line, to be able to keep up harmony between two hus- 
bands, as well as old Johnson. 

This represents the character of the man. and Rod- 
dis' financial embarrassment later on was generally at- 
tributed to the actions of the Johnson family. 

After a season or so at carrying meat, I was pro- 
moted to a position in the pickling department. I worked 
there for awhile and then got a job as packer, packing 



His Life 47 

beef in tierces. It was quite a trick to get three hundred 
and four pounds into a tierce and required quite a bit of 
skill to get it in in good shape. I was still only a boy, 
yet I succeeded in keeping my end up with men of ma- 
ture age in this line of work. 

From that I got to be a scaler, or weigher of beef. 
That position also required considerable skill, as the 
drafts were to be made even weight and the exact weight 
could only be made by exchanging pieces until the scale 
beam was at a balance. 

During this period there was no slaughtering or pack- 
ing during the summertime. The season began early in 
November and continued until March. Then the houses 
were closed down and the men were all let out for the 
summer and we were obliged to hustle about and find 
something to work at during the summer season. I 
found employment on a farm and nursery combined, 
known as the old Gifford nursery, located on Spring 
Street, which is now known as the Merrill Estate, 
bounded by Thirty- fourth Street on the west, Grand 
Avenue on the north, Twenty-seventh Street on the east, 
running back onto the railroad track. The farm was 
rented by a man named Gwinn, and I think there was a 
partnership with the Widow Gifford in regard to the 
sale of the trees. 

I had three horses and a cow to take care of, was 
obliged to feed, water and take care of the horses as well 
as milk the cow, before seven o'clock in the morning 
and also take care of them after six o'clock in the even- 
ing. In other words, I had to put in ten hours' work on 
the farm as well as do my chores before and after, for 
which I think I received about six dollars a week. 



4)-i Patrick Cudahy 



I was working in this nursery with my brother, dig- 
ging out trees, on the clay that Lee surrendered to Grant 
during the Civil War. In those days there were no tele- 
phones or much of any way of communicating news, and 
we knew but very little about the excitement that was 
going on in the city. The first indication we had of it, 
was a team hitched to an open carriage, running away 
with the driver. In the carriage were four uniformed 
men, one of them, I afterward learned, was a brigadier 
general. He was a very tall man and stood up behind 
the driver trying to help control the horses. The men 
were apparently all under the influence of liquor and 
created quite a sensation. 

That evening I went to the city and everything was 
in an uproar. Everybody that lived in Milwaukee or 
anywhere nearby was on the streets. Fireworks was 
being sent up and almost everyone was drunk. They 
certainly were drunk, either with intoxicating liquors or 
excitement. 

One old fellow, who was nicknamed '"leggy the 
table," presume on account of his occupation, as he was 
a tailor, was going about in the crowd shouting, "Lee has 
surrendered and Richmond's our own ! That's what's 
the matter with Hannah or Hannah's son if he was 
here!" 

The next day there was some verse in the Sentinel 
and I remember those two lines : 
"Those were drunk who never drank before. 
And those that were always drunk only drank the more." 

It was certainly a great day of rejoicing by every- 
body, that the cruel Civil War was about at an end. 

At work in this nursery was an old Scotchman, a 



His Life 49 

gardener, by the name of Gardener. He lived in a little 
cabin on the east side of the property just about where 
St. Rose's Catholic Church now stands. His wife was a 
north of Ireland woman and they had one son named 
Alexander, who the old lady called Alec. Alec was a 
great pet. 

The old lady had a number of chickens, probably two 
dozen in all, one of about every variety that existed, and 
she knew all the breeds and the history of them. I often 
sat on the bench with her and heard her tell about the 
white Dorkins, black Spanish, blue Andalusians, etc., and 
so on. She had some of her pet hens named after the 
notables of Europe — Marie Antoinette, Queen Vic- 
toria, etc. She was quite an interesting old lady and I 
spent many pleasant evenings in her cabin, chatting with 
the old couple. 

The old gardener was very well up in botany and 
could tell the name of every plant, weed, shrub, or tree 
that grew out of the ground and I got into the habit of 
asking him the names of different plants, etc., and in that 
way gained a great deal of information that was after- 
ward cjuite useful to me. I also acquired a taste for trees 
and flowers that stuck to me through life. He was a 
great hand for budding the bud of one rose on the stalk 
of another. The same way with apples, grafting a scion 
of one tree onto the branch of another, and in walking 
about you could notice a white rose and a red rose grow- 
ing from the same stem, also two kinds of apples on the 
same tree. We did a lot of grafting there one winter, 
taking roots of seedling apples and grafting scions of 
other trees on them. I wrapped the graft with manilla 
paper, coated with beeswax, tallow and rosin. The 



',() Patrick Cudahv 



grafted plants were placed away in the barn cellar until 
spring, when they were planted out in rows in the held, 
and I think fully ninety-five per cent, of them were good, 
and I had the pleasure of seeing them grow up and make 
a start as trees. This also was an education for me. In 
fact, the practical education that I possess today has been 
an education acf|uired by observation and intercourse, in 
a business way, with men. I worked at a good many 
different kinds of work and I have never done anything, 
whether it was on the farm, ch-Jving team, or w^hat, but 
the experience was of some value to me later in life. 

As I have said before, employment, or the earning of 
a little money, seemed to be of more importance in those 
days than an education. In other words, it was neces- 
sary to earn a little money to help keep the wolf from 
the door, and the education had to be scraped up the best 
way possible. I think I must have been slow to learn or 
I should have made better use of my time, as I had, I 
think, better opportunities than what my older brother 
had. yet he is farther advanced in that line than what 
I am. 

When I got along toward the age of fourteen or 
fifteen, I seemed to feel the need of some education, and 
whenever an opportunity came along, dug in pretty hard. 
But my principal aim was to master arithmetic. I felt 
if I could figure fairly well that I could get along in the 
world, and so expressed myself to one of my teachers, 
Miss May brick. She took a special interest in me and I 
learned more from her in one term than what I had in 
two or three previous terms. 

During the vacation in the siunmer. tlie trustees of 
this school bought the year's supply of cord wood, which 



His Life 51 

was about fifty cords I should judge. The wood was 
piled up alongside of the schoolhouse. I thought there 
was a chance for a job, so I went and spoke to one of 
the trustees and got the job of sawing and piling up the 
wood in the basement of the schoolhouse. I believe I 
got thirty dollars for the job. The stove was one of 
those large box stoves, so all 1 had to do was to cut each 
stick in two, and did not have to split it. I finished the 
job in about six weeks and felt that I was something of 
a fellow when I was through. It was better exercise than 
swinging Indian clubs or dumb bells, as the boys do now, 
and I had earned the price of a good suit of clothes and 
had something left. 

This nursery where I worked was later on somewhat 
neglected and run down and the remainder of the trees 
were bought by my brother John. I want to tell you 
about this, for I have always thought it was a heroic act 
and something very much to his credit. All of us boys 
turned over our wages to our mother until we were 
twenty-one years and six months of age. The limit was 
twenty-one years, but my oldest brother set an example 
for the rest of us by throwing in six months for good 
measure. At the finishing up of John's twenty-one and 
a half years he bought the remnant of the old nursery, 
that is, purchased the trees and rented the land. The 
price agreed upon was something like eight hundred dol- 
lars, and he could not sell or dig up any of the trees until 
half the purchase price had been paid. So he set to 
work preparing to meet the payment. He did not have 
a dollar to begin with. 

The slaughtering of beef cattle at that time was done 
very extensively in Milwaukee, and men who were ex- 



Patrick Ci:D.\in- 



perts at skinning, or siding, as it was called, which means 
taking ofT the hide in a skillful way, commanded good 
wages. They generally hired ont in October for four 
months at one hundred dollars per month. So John got 
a job in a city abattoir during the summer, where the 
city butchers did their slaughtering, and served an ap- 
prenticeship, so to speak, htting himself for the four 
winter months. Aly oldest brother was an expert at the 
time, so he took John for a partner. The siders always 
worked in pairs. In this way John got the same pay as 
the others, one hundred dollars a month for four months. 
Mother trusted him for his board and he did not spend a 
cent in any other way. At the end of the four months he 
had his four hundred dollars to make his payment on 
the trees. Then he was allowed to go on digging and 
selling, and after that it was easy sailing. But it had 
required a lot of pluck and self-denial to do what he did, 
and I have always looked upon it as one of his greatest 
achievements, although he has done a great many great 
things since. 

A short time prior to this, my brother John and I 
went to work for a man named Jake Rogers, who was in 
the milk business. He rented a farm from Frank Haw- 
ley, a farm of mostly meadow land, growing timothy 
hay. I lay in those days was almost all cut by hand with 
a scythe, the horse mower not being much in use as yet. 

Jake Rogers had a number of sons. The oldest, 
Edgar, was a great big strapping fellow, square shoul- 
dered, but a little too fat and lazy. He, my brother and 
I cut and saved the hay. We would mow half the day 
and haul in the other half. When mowing. Edgar would 
lead off, my brother next, and I brought up the rear. My 



His Life 53 

brother was a closely built, well-ribbed man, just the kind 
to swing a scythe, and he never was so happy as when 
chasing some fellow. He could keep an edge on his 
scythe as sharp as a razor. He would cut right up be- 
hind Edgar's heels and call out to him to get out of the 
way. Edgar was also good at it, but his fat told on him 
on hot days. He wore a coarse dark linen shirt and 
trousers, and when it got wet with perspiration it showed 
black. The sweat first began to show up near his neck 
between his shoulders. Then it would work down the 
center of his back and it would not be long until he was 
all black with sweat. He would look at John and say, 
"Gollees, you little cuss, where have you got your 
strength ?" 

I was still young and growing. I could not keep my 
end up very well with those two fellows, so took as small 
a swath as I could. Even then I would get such a pain 
in my long back that I could hardly stand up. I man- 
aged to put in a good deal of my time going for a fresh 
jug of drinking water and in that way pulled through. 
We lived then in Palmer's Addition. Every evening we 
rode home from the Hawley farm, ate our supper, and 
then played baseball until dark. 

Working in the Hawley hay field the same time we 
were, was a green German, who could not speak a word 
of English. He was very anxious to learn the language 
and when he and I were off together raking and cocking 
up hay, he continued jabbering German at me, asking the 
names of the rake, the fork, and so on. I told him and, 
of course, learned the German name in return. I learned 
enough from him. by asking questions, to interest me, so 
I followed it up with Germans with whom I afterward 



Patrick Cudaiiv 



worked, always asking questions. In that way I got so 
that I could understand and make myself understood well 
enough to get along fairly well. 

On one of my European trips, later, when I visited 
Germany, I felt quite at home. My daughters and sons 
have all taken up the study of Gennan in school. They 
can read it, but whenever an interpreter is required at 
home, I am the one who is called upon. 

The winter following this summer at the Hawley 
farm I got a job with a new packing firm, named Berthe- 
let Theboo & Co., on West Water Street, just north of 
Spring Street. They handled dressed hogs exclusively, 
and cut everything into barreled pork. My job was that 
of a packer. We still lived in Palmer's Addition. It 
was along about 1S66. Some time before that a real 
estate boom was on and some party platted a lot of land 
up there, what now would be west of Twenty-seventh 
Street and south of Grand Avenue, selling the 
lots to suckers. Between that and Eighth Street 
was farming land, so there were no sidewalks 
and no street cars. Shanks mare and break your 
own path after a heavy snow storm, was the order of the 
day. When the walking was good we made it in forty- 
five minutes, but after a snow storm it took close to an 
hour. I generally left home about six, or a little before, 
so as to rest a little before beginning the day's work. I 
packed from two hundred to two hundred and fifty 
barrels of pork a day, which in pounds would be forty 
to fifty thousand. Had to get my own barrel and salt, 
roll away the full and roll up the empty one. 

About this time 1 felt that in order to enjoy myself 
and get into the social swim, so to speak, I must learn to 



His Life 55 

dance. I had been to a few parties and was obliged to 
be a wall flower. That would not do. Old Vizay con- 
ducted a dancing academy just north of where Berthe- 
let's packing house stood, so I joined his school, and 
many an evening, after working hard all day, I walked 
home, got my supper and walked back to the city, took 
my dancing lesson, and walked home again. 

Vizay had one terribly homely old hag whom he used 
for breaking in the new boys. She was bent over almost 
as if she had curvature of the spine, had a large Roman 
nose, and her eyes were red, sort of granulated lids. But 
she could dance. Vizay always took a new fellow up to 
this dear old girl, introduced him and then left. It 
vv^orked fine, for a fellow was not going to remain in 
that class any longer than it was absolutely necessary. I 
had the old girl for a few nights, but just as soon as I 
got so I did not step on her toes, or, in other words, be- 
came a little handy with my feet, I deserted her and 
bustled up to something better looking. But then, there 
was always a good supply in the awkward squad, so the 
old girl was never out of a job. 

That was a great school of Vizay's. I can hear the 
old fellow now, singing out, "One, two, three. One, two, 
three." After I got so I could dance a quadrille and Vir- 
ginia reel I felt that I could get along, and as it was rather 
strenuous to work hard all day and walk an extra six 
miles in order to learn to dance, I gave it up. 

In those days the water in the Menominee river was 
as pure and clean as spring water. Roddis used to use 
the river water for brine. It would freeze over solid in 
winter, and we boys used to skate from the Three-Mile 
Bridge, which is where Pigsville is now, clear down to 



no Patrick CrnAiiY 



the north end of Reed Street. I spent one very enjoy- 
able Sunday evening in Ice Bear's Rink. It was a large 
enclosure and he had a band of music. The ice was 
good and diere was a jolly crowd at the ice rink. One 
fancy skater I remember in particular, was Billy Hughes. 
He was a finely built fellow, a ship calker, afterward a 
letter carrier. He certainly was great on skates. He 
was not a professional, just one of the crowd, but when 
he would get to showing off he would have a crowd of 
several hundred around him. 

In the summertime I always knocked about at any- 
thing I could get to work at, for there was one thing 
about me, I could not feel satisfied to remain idle. I 
worked one summer driving a team for a Mr. Story, 
hauling stone from their quarry to the city. Another 
summer I worked for a man named McNab, who kept a 
paper mill on Spring Street in the Menominee Valley, just 
west of Undertakers Hill. I had a team, going out into 
the country for straw, hauling it in to the mill. The 
paper in those days was made principally of straw, rags, 
and rope, thrown into a large vat and cooked up together, 
making what they called a bleach. 

It was quite a trick to load this straw so that it would 
ride well for a distance of four or five miles. Had to 
place it on the wagon just right, for it was necessary to 
have quite a bulky load, as it did not weigh much. With 
a binding pole I bound the straw well down in the center, 
yet if it was not placed right, the shaking on the rough 
roads would loosen the load and it would soon be lost. 

Speaking of this Mr. McNab. He was a crusty old 
Scotchman, very fond of his booze. Regularly every day 
he went to the city, with his old nag and came up in the 
evening with his skin full of booze. 



His Life 57 

The machinery and boilers in the old paper mill had 
been in use for years and every now and then, he had a 
gang of boiler makers out patching the boilers. They 
generally managed to put in two or three days making a 
dreadful noise with their hammers, whether they did 
anything or not. During the time they were patching the 
boiler, the mill was shut down and old Mac walked about 
frothing at the mouth. He came to me one day and said, 
"Cudahy, those boiler makers ought to be shot. Yes, 
shot at ten o'clock this forenoon." I agreed with him 
that shooting was too good for them. 

McNab had a very nice buckthorn hedge growing 
wild and untrimmed along the west line of his property. 
1 asked him if he would allow me to trim it, which he 
agreed to. That afternoon, when he returned with his 
booze, I had the hedge trimmed and looking very nice. 
The old man, jagged as usual, straightened himself up, 
admired the hedge for a few minutes, and then said, 
"Cudahy, do you know what I'm thinking about?" I 
said, "No, sir." "I was thinking," said he, "That if our 
friend Holton had that hedge he would whitewash it." 
Holton was a man who owned a farm nearby and had all 
his fences, barns, trunks of his trees and everything that 
way whitewashed. One could not imagine anything more 
absurd than the idea of whitewashing a hedge, but, of 
course, it was meant as a joke and it certainly amused me. 

At the age of seventeen I had progressed so well 
in the packing and meat business that I was receiving a 
salary of seventy-five dollars a month, which was some- 
thing to be proud of in those days. But when the first of 
March arrived, had to hustle around and take whatever I 
could get in the way of employment, so decided I had 



rAlKICK CUDAHV 



better try to learn some sort of a summer trade, which I 
could turn in at when leaving the packing house in the 
spring. 

The father of a friend of mine was a contractor, 
building stone churches and such. I got in with him to 
serve an apprenticeship at the stone cutting trade, or 
rather to try and steal the trade, for I could work at it 
only during the summer season. My apprenticeship 
could not l3e continuous. 

My first job was with this man, Mr. McKelvy. He 
had a contract for building a stone church in White- 
water, Wisconsin, and I agreed to work the summer for 
him for five dollars a week. I had style enough about 
me, even with my five dollars per week, to board at the 
best hotel in Whitewater, paying four dollars a week for 
my board, leaving on^ dollar to pay for washing and 
other sundries, yet at the end of the season I was about 
as well ofl', or better off, than some of the journeymen 
who were earning three and one-half dollars a day. Out 
of my five dollars a week I had enough money left to pay 
my fare home to Milwaukee, which was more than some 
of them could say. 

This was my first experience away from home, and 
the way I suffered from homesickness was something 
terrible. It lasted for about two weeks, then I fairly 
recovered and with letters from home every week or so, 
felt quite comfortable. 

I was put at work roughing off the surface of the 
rough stone, called ashler, or wall stone. Made little 
progress in a skillful line, only to pound away until I had 
pretty well finished the summer season. Then I began 
to get some little insight into the trade, particularly the 



His Life 59 

knack of taking a stone out of wind, which means that 
when you first take a stone, say with a surface of three 
feet one way by four feet the other way, the question is 
how to get the face of that stone down to a level surface. 
The way it is done is by running a chisel draft across one 
end, cutting that smooth and straight enough so a straight 
edge would set solid on it ; then picking out the lowest, or 
slackest side, run another chisel draft the full length, also 
smooth and straight, so that the straight edge will lie 
solid. Now place your straight edge on the end which 
you first made smooth, and stepping back a foot or two, 
cast your eye so the end of the draft on the side would 
come even with the bottom of the straight edge. Then 
throw your eye across to the rough side of the stone 
and catch the point that would also come even with the 
bottom of the straight edge. Mark that point with your 
chisel and run another draft across that end, bringing it 
down to the level of that point. Place another straight 
edge on the draft on this end, and if the bottom edge of 
the both straight edges were perfectly even, you are sure 
of having both ends level. Run another draft on the 
other side, from one end to the other and rough off the 
middle of the stone, bringing it all down to a smooth 
surface. This is the principal trick in the stone cutting 
trade and is quite a thing to accomplish. 

Carpenters have square timbers on which to place 
their squares and make lines and measurements, but the 
stone cutter has a rough chunk of stone to be made level 
and smooth before he can make use of his square. 

I have an amusing anecdote to relate regarding this 
Whitewater job. McKelvy must have taken the job on 
a pretty close margin, for he seemed very impatient with 



00 Patrick CnnAiiY 



the stone cutters who were inchncd to do good work. 
Once, while a Scotcliman, a stone cutter of particularly 
fine ability, was working on an offset to be placed in the 
chiinney abo\'e the roof, INIcKelvy canie up and said to 
him, ''What are you putting in so much time on that for? 
It's going up in the chimney and will never be seen." "Is 
that so?" said the Scotchman, "Why, when I go to 
church, the chimney is the first thing I look at. If the 
chimney doesn't look safe I don't go to church." This 
was too much for McKelvy. He turned on his heels and 
walked away. 

I left Whitewater as soon as the cold weather set in, 
in the fall, and went back to the packing house. Had 
worked by this time, I think, one season in the Plankin- 
ton Packing House, packing beef, and then moved to 
Layton & Company, where I had the position of scaler. 

The ne.xt summer I started out working at the stone 
cutting trade again, but instead of serving apprenticeship, 
went to work on building stone, dressing them by the 
foot, and made fairly good wages. W^hen the fall, or 
cold weather set in again, I was back to Layton's Packing 
House, for another w-inter. Enjoyed working for Mr. 
Layton, who is now considered Milwaukee's grand old 
man. He was always cheerful, and appreciated men who 
endeavored to do what was right. 

One day when I had loaded a scale with pork known 
as extra prime, which is made from the shoulders of 
hogs, he happened along and his eye caught a piece of a 
stag. He said, "Cudahy, that pork is going out here to 
the Soldiers' Home and I think some of those old fel- 
lows have poor teeth, better not put that piece in." 

While I worked at Layton & Company the superin- 



His Life 61 

tendent had a lot of lottery tickets to sell. Some boat 
club was trying to raise money by selling tickets. The 
tickets were one dollar each and most of the men bought 
one or two. 

We used to eat our dinner in a room about forty by 
sixty and about six feet high. Running around the sides 
of the room were a lot of steam pipes and on these we 
warmed our coffee. About two hundred men would get 
together at noon in this room to eat their dinner. There 
was no ventilation and the air would get so thick you 
could cut it with a knife. One day, after we were all 
supplied with tickets, a day or so before the night of the 
lottery, or when the announcement of the lucky numbers 
was to be made, I took out a pencil and began writing 
down the names of the ticket holders and the numbers 
of their tickets, when all at once I got a nervous attack 
and had to stop writing. I presume the foul air had 
something to do with it. This caused something of a 
sensation. 

After it passed off, I felt awfully depressed, or I 
might say, ashamed, that such a thing should happen, and 
that very thing has haunted me to this day. 1 am in 
constant dread of signing my name in the presence of a 
number of people. I have been requested by ladies to 
write something in an autograph album and have suffered 
tortures trying to do so. I look upon my trouble a good 
deal the same as a stuttering person. They will be all 
right by themselves, but in a terrible condition in the 
presence of a number of people. 

This has been my one drawback. I can drive a trade, 
write letters with a pen all day long alone by myself, 
give a fellow a sound tongue thrashing, if necessary, but 



Patiuck Cuuahv 



when I come to center my mind on the end of a pen. in 
the presence of people, I get the shakes. It is not always 
so, occasionally I ha\e perfect control of myself. Then 
again, I will take fright and no one can read my writing. 
Most everyone has some bogy-man and this is mine. 

1'he nerves are a strange part of our make-up. Most 
everyone has some kind of trouble with his nerves, one 
is bashful, another will have a twitch in the face, and 
so on. It is the nerves that make men smoke and drink 
and do all sorts of foolish things. 

The following spring I got a job with a party who 
had the stone work on the Insane Asylum at Oshkosh, 
Wisconsin. I was hired by the day at two dollars per 
day, so you see I was climbing up. The asylum was 
built with Milwaukee brick and Cleveland sandstone. 
The sandstone came by lake on large vessels as far as 
Green Bay. From there it was taken on small steam 
scows up the Fox River to Lake Winnebago, where we 
had built an unloading dock. The large pieces were 
hoisted with a derrick from the scows onto flat horse 
cars and run on a temporary track from the dock to the 
building. 

I was selected by the contractor as foreman of the 
unloading gang, that is. I worked at the trade part of the 
time, but when a vessel came in with stone I was detailed 
to unload her, to see that the stone was placed where it 
was wanted around the building. This made me feel that 
I was something of a captain, to be made boss of a gang. 

A lot of young fellows were at work on this job. 
Some were marble cutters and some stone cutters, who 
commanded a salary of three dollars and fifty cents and 
four dollars a day, but none of them had a dollar to his 



His T.ife 63 

name. I had a hundred dollars, which I had saved up the 
winter before, and was the banker for the party. Had 
to loan one fellow five, another fellow ten, and so on, for 
we were at work a couple of months on the job before the 
contractor got any money, and as he did not seem to 
have any money himself, the men got none until he re- 
ceived it from the state. 

Half a dozen of us boarded with an Irish farmer 
nearby, who, not feeling certain about getting paid for 
his board, was not any too kind to us. Our bill of fare 
consisted of salt pork and bread. The old fellow did not 
have any potatoes or vegetables of any kind himself, and 
would not buy any, and as most of us were not in a posi- 
tion to assert our independence, we had to eat what was 
set before us and look pleasant. 

The old Irishman had an only daughter, who was 
something of a musician, could sing a little, and when we 
sat down to our salt pork and bread, she sat down at the 
piano and played and sang for us. So if our bill of fare 
was poor, it was made sweet with music, but the most of 
us would have appreciated the music better under more 
favorable circumstances. 

As soon as the boys got their first money it did not 
take us long to fly the coop and find a better boarding 
house. We went to an American farmer this time, who 
fed us fairly well, probably on account of knowing that 
we had money to pay for our board. 

This man had three grown up daughters. They were 
Baptists, and the girls sang in the choir. They had no 
piano, but had an organ, and we had no end of singing 
and music; so on the whole, it was made very pleasant 
for us. 



r.4 Patrick Cudaiiv 



This was the summer of 1871, the summer of the 
terrible Chicago fire, also the Peshtigo fire up north. The 
air was so heavy and smoky that we could see the burnt 
wafers from the Peshtigo lire floating in the air. 

I saved up a good bit of money this summer. I think 
as much as one hundred and twenty-five dollars or so in 
addition to the one hundred I had at the beginning. By 
this time I had passed my twenty-first year, and as the 
understanding in our family was. that we were to turn 
over what we earned, to our mother, until we were 
twenty-one. and from that on we were to become board- 
ers and be dealt with as strangers, with the exception of 
a mother's care and kindness and a little cheaper board 
than we could get from a stranger, my two hundred and 
twenty-five dollars was my own. As my money was my 
own and I could do what I pleased with it, I invested it 
in sweet pickled pork hams that winter, buying seven 
tierces of three hundred pounds each. After holding 
them for two or three months I sold them at a profit of 
about fifty dollars. This was my first investment and I 
was very much pleased to have it a profitable one. 

During this year my mother died, at the age of fifty- 
seven, just about the time that her sons began to prosper. 
Each of them loved her so much, that, had she lived, she 
would certainly have had something to live for. I was 
aw-ay from home, at Oshkosh. at the time of her death 
and came home to the funeral. Do not think I ever 
grieved so much about anything before or since, as I 
did over my mother's death. 

After putting in the next winter in the packing house 
again, I started out the following spring for Chicago, 
where there was plenty of work for stone cutters, at good 



His Life 65 

wages. I had progressed far enough in the art of the 
trade so that I attempted to seek employment as a full- 
fledged journeyman in one of the union yards of Chi- 
cago. Among the union men working in another yard 
I had two or three friends, who introduced me and got a 
job for me. 

In all union yards there is what is known as a shop 
steward, who looks after the interests of the union in 
his particular yard. I was introduced to this shop ste- 
ward and told him on the quiet that I was not what you 
would call a finished stone cutter ; that I had been at work 
principally on rough work. He must have stood in with 
the proprietors of the yard, for he violated the rules o^ 
the union by putting me at work on piece work, cutting 
what is known as vault covers. They were large quarry 
stone, and after being worked to a smooth surface, were 
used for covering the vaults under the sidewalks in 
Chicago. 

As most of the walls of those vaults remained stand- 
ing after the fire, all that was necessary was to lift off 
the old broken stone cover and replace it with new. In 
this way they made use of those vaults under the side- 
walks for restaurants, saloons, etc. This made a great 
demand for vault covers and a fairly good price was 
made in cutting them. Although I was not a finished 
stone cutter, I made more money per day than what the 
jotu"neymen did. 

The union held its meeting every two weeks. As 
I went to work in the yard the first day after one of 
those meetings, I was good for two weeks' work at 
least. The shop steward asked me if I had a union 
card. I said "No," and he told me to attend the union 



on Patkkk Cudahv 



meeting on a certain evening, giving nic the name of 
the hall and street number. I attended the meeting 
as instructed. My experience was one I shall long 
remember. Speech making there was and business 
to be done. 

There was a question as to whether a strike would 
be ordered or not, also whether it was to be for an in- 
crease of half a dollar, or seventy-five cents per day. 
This, of course, brought out any amount of discussion, 
and lively, noisy discussions they were. 

In fact, my experience at those meetings would 
make a good book in itself, if I were clever enough to 
put it together right. 

One man, who spoke with a strong Welsh dialect, 
was strongly in favor of a strike for a dollar a day in- 
crease, saying, "What goud would be a half dollar a 
day. Why, it would not buy my bread and cheese." 

Another man, who appeared quite old, spoke 
against the strike in a general way. While he was 
talking a burly fellow jumped up and called him a 
scab. The old man replied, 'T am no scab." Said the 
other, ''Didn't you work ten hours on such and such 
a job?" "I did," answered the old man, "but I carry 
an exempt card, which gives me that privilege." 
There was a general cry of "Put him out," and as 
quick as lightning, half a dozen big fellows had 
hold of the poor old man and hustled him through the 
crowd and out doors, down an outside stairway, land- 
ing him on the sidewalk below. 

I was very mum and ([uiet myself, so did not at- 
tempt to investigate whether the old man suffered 
any severe bruises or not, but to judge from the noise, 



His Life 67 

as he slid down the stairs, he was a fit subject for a 
"couple of days off." 

I was relating this experience to a journeyman 
stone cutter not so very long ago, who now runs a 
little business of his own. He is an Englishman. He 
told me of his own experience when he first went to 
work in New York City. Said that he attended 
several of the stone cutters' meetings there and that 
the president, while presiding at the meetings, usually 
had a revolver on his desk, ready for action. 

There was a large shop in Chicago equipped with 
machinery for dressing stone, using a number of plan- 
ing machines which planed the surface of the stone, 
about the same as wood is planed in a planing mill. 
Those stone were the same as I had been working on, 
namely, vault covers, and, of course, the machinery 
took the place of a great many men. Consequently 
the union condemned the shop and branded everyone 
employed in any capacity about it as scabs. In fact, 
those union men would cross the street and take the 
other side, when passing by this shop. They acted as 
though there were a lot of lepers housed in it, and 
would talk in whispers as they went by, making one 
feel, when passing, as though there was something 
horrible about the place. 

Some amusing sights and characters were among 
those stone cutters. I remember of seeing a couple of 
fellows, who had been out of employment for a week 
or more, come to the yard, throw a lot of stone dust 
over their clothes and go into the nearest saloon, mak- 
ing it appear that they were working in the yard 



08 Patrick Citdahy 

nearby, and in that way, get a couple of drinks on 
trust. 

It was always porterhouse steak in the summer 
and liver in the winter with those fellows. 

I think I attended three of the meetings of the 
union, just described, before I was called before "his 
honor," the presiding officer. The officer asked if I 
was a union man. I replied, "No, sir." Then the 
shop steward was called up and he was asked if I was 
a stone cutter worthy of admission into the union. He 
said he did not know, as I had been engaged entirely 
on rough work during the time I was in his yard. He 
came in for a good roast, was told that if he was a 
mechanic himself, he could tell by the way I handled 
my tools, whether I was a mechanic or not. 

After handling the steward without gloves, I was 
given two weeks more in the yard to prove myself. 
The shop steward was instructed to put me on a piece 
of fine work the next day and see whether I was a 
finished mechanic or not. I knew that my cakes were 
dough, that I would not be able to qualify, so began 
to hustle around the next day, for the next best thing 
to do. 

Learned I could go out to Lamont, where the 
quarries were, about thirty miles west of Chicago, and 
work at vault covers without any interference by the 
union. The owner of the quarries, a man named 
Walker, had an office in Chicago, so I went there and 
secured employment, packed my grip and went to 
Lamont to work. I was put on vault covers, on the 
bank of what is known as the drainage canal, which 
runs from Chicago to Kankakee. We worked under 



His Life 69 

a derrick, operated with a horse. Three gangs of us 
worked on those stone and were allowed about half 
the space of the circle of the derrick. The remainder 
of the space was used for piling rubble stone, which 
was taken to Chicago on canal boats. Our stone was 
brought fresh out of the quarry and placed on bankers 
by the derrick man. The derrick also shifted and 
turned our stone any way we wanted to have it. 

The pay I got was the same per foot that I re- 
ceived in the Chicago yard, and, of course, not being 
confined to any limit of hours by any union, I worked 
ten or twelve hours, or whatever suited me, earning 
twice as much as what the high-toned union men did 
in Chicago. 

This Lamont was one of the roughest holes I ever 
got into. It was a town of several hundred people 
and all we had to keep order was a town marshal. 
The men employed in the quarries were mostly 
Swedes and Irish, and generally, after pay day, there 
was fighting all along the line, between the two. On 
account of being noted for its quarries, the streets 
were covered with broken stone everywhere, and be- 
ing so handy to pick up and throw, those stones were 
made use of when the fight was well on its way — so 
when the men got back to work, there were a good 
many bandaged heads. 

There was one big strapping Irishman, of the 
John L. type, who took special delight in going about 
thrashing people. That was his pleasure and no mat- 
ter who came in his wav, when he had one of those 
fighting spells on, he was liable to be knocked into a 
cocked hat. 



7() Patrick Cudaiiv 

I attended sonic of their Sunday picnics and saw 
some pretty rou.q;h times. Mingled with them, l)ack 
and forth, yet I selected one of the finest hotels in the 
town for a boardincf place and had none of them there 
to associate with. I was always pleasant and agree- 
able with them, vet never drank with them, and, 
strange to say, they all seemed to like me. 

With the derrick man I was a favorite. He would 
do more for me than for any of the toughs that 
worked along side of me. In fact, he was so respect- 
ful, that he addressed me as Mr. Cudahy, whenever 
he spoke to me. His name was Jim. and his face, be- 
tween the exposure to the sun and the poor whiskey, 
was of a very dark red, the color of lobster. One 
Monday morning, the poor fellow came to work with 
his face all bandaged up. He had been in a fight and 
was minus a good portion of his nose. I sympathized 
with him and he seemed to appreciate it. 

As I have stated. I earned good money at piece 
work on those stones, as high as ten and twelve dol- 
lars a day and saved the most of it. Spent nothing 
much outside of paying for my board, so I brought 
home about three hundred and fifty dollars. This I 
loaned to a friend of mine, on interest, for one year. 

The air at Lamont seemed to be impregnated with 
malaria. Everybody was effected more or less. It 
was the subject of conversation at the table and 
wherever people congregated, each one told his or her 
experience. The sickness was something like the old 
fashioned ague. People shook like leaves on trees. 
It was particularly hard on old booze fighters. I suc- 
ceeded in keeping it off for the summer by using a 



His Life 71 

patent medicine called Kollegog. It was a mixture of 
quinine and molasses. I took large doses of this hor- 
rible mixture every day, but when the cool weather 
set in in October, I collapsed with the rest, and was 
obliged to return home. 

There was an old doctor in Milwaukee then named 
Hatchard, who had quite a reputation. He was on 
the horse doctor order, believed in stuff that burned, 
or smarted. He was called in and went at me in the 
old fashioned style. "Put out your tongue," said he. 
Taking a look at my tongue, he said, "We must go to 
house cleaning. The door step of your house is very 
dirty." 

He started in with calomel, then castor oil, after 
the oil, a dose of jelop. This he repeated for several 
days. I was not eating anything and after taking the 
calomel I would become delirious and rave like a 
madman. After submitting to this treatment for 
about ten days, I told my mother that I would not 
take any more of this stufif, so the next time old Hat- 
chard called, he was told that I would not take his 
dope. He came into the room, felt my pulse, ordered 
me to put out my tongue, and so on, looked profes- 
sional and said, "If you don't take the medicine you 
will die." I said, "Alright, I will die with my senses, 
and if I continue with you I will die in an insane 
asylum." He left me in disgust. 

After a few days I received strength enough to 
take a little nourishment, but discovered that my 
teeth all felt loose, so we called in another old stand- 
by, named Spearman. I was afraid to tell him about 
the other doctor. Told him the medicine was a pre- 



Patrick Cudaiiy 



paration I got from an old lady neighbor. He swore 
a blue streak, said, "You are salivated," and after call- 
ing me down in good shape, prescribed for mc and in 
due time I got on my feet again, 

I continued on in the packing house winters and 
the next summer got a job at my trade, working on 
the Milwaukee reservoir. This was also piece work 
and I made fairly good pay. I was shifted from there 
over to the water tower and was put on to finer work, 
by the day, and I now point with pride to a piece of 
my work, one of the large cut stones in the water 
tower. It is known as an offset on one of the butt- 
resses up about thirty feet from the ground. 

This brings me to the fall of 1873 ^^^ finishes my 
career as a stone cutter. 



CHAPTER IV. 

That fall a lumberman named Lyman came to the 
city for the purpose of engaging in the pork packing 
business. He rented an old house from Mr. Furlong, 
at the east end of Erie Street on the lake shore. 

By this time the slaughtering of live hogs by the 
packers had become practical and Lyman, looking for 
a superintendent to handle his packing house, made 
inquiry of Mr. Armour, for such a person. Mr. 
Armour recommended me. I was engaged at a salary 
of a hundred dollars a month to run the packing 
house. I was then twenty-two years old and had 
never dreamt of holding such a position. Was quite 
excited when I was installed as superintendent and 
given a gang of a couple hundred men to look after. 
I made the best bluff I knew how and ran up and 
down stairs, two steps at a time, shouting and holler- 
ing everywhere I went. Got along fairly well, or- 
ganized the different gangs required to do the work, 
principally from green men, and did my work about 
as cheap as anybody was doing it at that time. 

Lyman took a partner, an old time packer, named 
Wooley. Wooley was something of a speculator and 
believed in selling futures, or doing a little trading, 
while Lyman was afraid of his life, after his money 
was paid out for hogs and material, fearing he would 
never get it back again. 

73 



74 Patrick Cudativ 



The men working for me were ])rincipally Irish- 
men. One I distinctly remember, a big strapping 
fellow, who was noted for his gab, was nicknamed 
"Paddy the lawyer." 

Lyman had a young man of a son, whom he was 
trying to break in as a business man, and sent him 
down to me to help around at something in the pack- 
ing house. I placed him in charge of a gang of Irish- 
men piling up barrels of pork out in the yard. One 
day as I was walking in the direction of where this 
gang was working, Paddy, the lawyer, sang out to 
young Lyman, "Look out there, here comes Cudahy. 
If he catches you standing there idle he'll discharge 
you." 

Lyman, as I have said, was badly scared about the 
venture he was in, so much so that he could not sleep 
nights. One day, when he was at the plant, he was 
doing a good deal of grumbling, fearing the price of 
everything was going lov^^er and that he would lose a 
lot of money. Finally I stumped him for a trade on 
two hundred and fifty barrels of mess pork at the 
price at which it was then selling. He took me up and 
sold me the pork. I had accumulated enough money 
at that time to pay for the two hundred and fifty 
barrels of pork in cash. It was piled to one side and 
I received a warehouse receipt. About three months 
after that quite a boom set in in prices and I sold my 
two hundred fifty barrels back to Mr. Lyman, making 
live hundred dollars on the transaction. 

We closed down, as all packers did in the spring, 
letting all the men go, except one or two others and 
myself. I opened a retail market in the place and sold 



His Life 75 

smoked shoulders and hams and whatever we had to 
sell, to the people of the third ward. 

I remember on one occasion, selling to an Irish 
woman a large smoked shoulder. The flies had been 
at the shoulder and skippers, or maggots, developed 
after she had taken it home. The next day I saw her 
coming back, holding the shoulder out at arm's 
length. She slung it on the counter and gave me a 
dressing down, such as an Irish woman can do, for 
selling her what she called a rotten shoulder. I made 
the best kind of an apology I could, took back the 
shoulder and gave her another one. 

We had quite a number of hams and shoulders 
hanging up on nails around the counter, from which I 
sold a few every day and turned in the cash to the 
bookkeeper at the ofifice on Broadway. Old Lyman 
was so suspicious of people stealing from him, that 
he would come down now and then and count up the 
hams and shoulders that were still hanging on the 
nails, and try to figure out by the cash I turned in 
whether or not I had been doing any stealing. I 
knew what he was at and simply enjoyed the experi- 
ence I had with the old chap. 

He would also drive up the streets through the 
third ward and if he saw any coal ashes he imagined 
the people from whose houses the ashes came, had 
stolen the coal from his coal pile. 

Finally he closed out everything and went back 
into the country in the lumber business. Although it 
was a pretty good year for packers, do not think he 
made any money, owing to the way he handled things. 

He was a terribly nervous man. One day he 



Patrick CunMiv 



wrote a note to his bookkeeper and sent it by a 
messenger. The bookeeper could not read it to save 
his life, and by the time Mr. Lyman got around to the 
office, he had forgotten what he wrote and could not 
read the note himself. 

Prior to the time he entered the packing business, 
he was a great hand for trading. On one occasion, it 
was said, he bought a herd of cattle, had them 
slaughtered, sold the beef, cured the hides, had them 
tanned and had some thought of having the leather 
made into boots and shoes. It was said that his barn 
was full of old harness and old truck that he took in 
trade, and every now and then he would have an auc- 
tion sale and clean it up. 

In the fall of 1S74, my oldest brother, who was super- 
intendent for Plankinton & Armour, the largest meat 
packing establishment in Milwaukee, went to Chi- 
cago with Mr. Armour to take charge of a house 
there, and I was called in to take his place in the 
establishment in Milwaukee. The cellars were empty 
at the time and standing at one end of this large 
empty cellar and looking through it. I thought it was 
a tremendous building; yet. within a few years after 
that time, I had doubled the capacity of the plant. 

Started in at a salary of sixteen hundred dollars a 
year, and after having one year as superintendent 
with Lyman, I felt fairly confident of being able to 
take care of the job. My oldest brother was a great 
worker, as well as being a great organizer, and I 
knew there was a good deal expected of me when I 
was called in to take his place. So I threw my whole 
energy into work. Although the remaining partner. 



His Life 77 

Mr. Plankinton, was a little bit skeptical at first, as to 
whether I would make good or not, he was more than 
pleased with me after I had been with him a few 
months. 

In the early stages of the pork business everything 
went into barrels. The large hogs were cut into mess 
pork and the smaller ones into prime mess and the 
shoulders made into what was known as extra prime, 
with the exception of a few, which were dry salted. The 
mess pork was sold principally in the pineries. The 
prime mess went to England and was used in the 
navy. It was cut in four pound pieces, or fifty pieces 
to the barrel. I presume that each sailor lad received 
one of those pieces for a certain number of days' 
ration. Certainly it was not a very equitable deal 
among the sailors, for some of the pieces were of the 
shoulder end, and of very much poorer quality than 
what the center of the back piece was. The same was 
good with the belly, the brisket end was very much 
better quality than the flank end. The extra prime 
was made of heavy coarse shoulders and sold mostly 
in the West Indies, also in the pineries, or lumber 
camps. 

This mode of disposing of the hog continued until 
about 1874, when the hog raising industry became 
quite extensive and a number of English curers came 
out to this country, established houses, trimmed and 
cured meat after the style used at home. This soon 
spread to other houses, conducted by Americans and 
along in the year of '75, we secured a very bright 
English butcher, who gave us a good start in the way 
of making English meat, which was the means of 



T'^ Patrick Cudativ 



establishing quite a trade. It grew to such an extent 
that about fifty per cent of our business, along in the 
late seventies, was with English buyers. 

The wood choppers in the lumber camps became 
more particular as to what they were being fed upon, 
refusing to be satisfied with the fat pork. They must 
have sausage, fresh beef, and in some cases, smoked 
bacon. 

As the country settled, the fresh meat trade grew 
and made a demand for pork loins, the pork loin be- 
ing the lean part of the side of a hog. Those loins 
were taken out with a bow shaped knife and sold to 
the retail butchers, the remainder of the side made 
into what was known as an extra short clear. 

Thus, it will be seen, the whole pork business was 
revolutionized from the old method of barreled pork, 
to working the hog up into different cuts, a demand 
being created for each cut. 

The business of the firm of Plankinton & Armour 
was very good and prosperous. Mr. Armour, who 
went to Chicago, still retained his interest in Milwau- 
kee. I was pushing things for all I was worth. It 
made no difference, whether it was day, or night, or 
Sunday, if there was anything to be done. I was on 
hand. 

Mr. Plankinton, the partner who remained in Mil- 
waukee, appreciated my efforts very mucii. My salary 
was advanced to two thousand a year and I was given 
one-sixteenth interest in the business. Lucky for me. 
the firm ran a successful pork corner this year, 1880, 
in which they made about eight hundred thousand 
(hilars, the same year I received my sixteenth in- 



His Life 79 

terest, which made my share of the year's profits, fifty 
thousand dollars. I tell you, I felt a good deal like a 
Rockefeller when I was notified that there was that 
amount to my credit. 

In the year 1879 I built a large ice house, or re- 
frigerator, for the purpose of slaughtering and curing 
meat in the summer time. I let the contracts and 
superintended the building, which cost in the neigh- 
borhood of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The 
contract for the brick work on the new extensions 
was let to a Milwaukee contractor, a Mr. D., noted 
for his ability to rush work. After signing the con- 
tract he wanted to know who was going to do the 
carpenter work. I told him I was going to do it with 
our hog killing gang; that owing to changing things 
around, we could not do much in the house, so would 
work our men at the building. 

He looked at me, as much as to say, "Are you 
joking me?" But when we got to work we demonstrated 
that our men were wood butchers as well as hog 
butchers. We were ahead of him all the way through, 
always had a beam or girder sticking out, waiting for 
his wall to be built up under it. 

Mr. D. was somewhat disappointed with his 
profits, when the job was finished, and attempted to 
make up some by the way of extras. I disputed his 
bill and fought him to a finish. He was a witty Irish- 
man, and when he saw he was beaten, said, "Oh, well 
all right, it is all pigs and pig rule around here." 

On another occasion Mr. D. was in the office while 
I was trading with a hair dealer, a Mr. W., for the 
hair from the winter's killing of our hogs. I was en- 



80 PaTF^CK Cl'DAHY 

dcavoring to show the hair dealer that the Wisconsin 
hogs ran more to white, owing to the Chester White 
breed being more numerous in Wisconsin than in 
other states, and we were entitled to a better price for 
our hair. Of course he argued differently. Our 
friend D. was listening, and after he got me outside 
alone, said, "You beat the devil, trying to make the 
man believe your hogs have more hair than anyone 
else's." ) 

Speaking of this hair dealer. He was one of the 
meanest men I ever came in contact with. We usual- 
ly sold the hair November ist, but this particular sea- 
son we could not sell it until spring, so we took care of 
it ourselves. We spread it out on a field a short dis- 
tance in the country, and the bristles, which were the 
most valuable, we spread out on the roof of a large 
shed, connected with the packing house. In the 
spring we sold the whole thing to the aforesaid 
dealer. He was just after being married to a frail, 
delicate young woman. It was in the month of March 
and the wind was doing its duty. ]Mr. W. had his 
bride with him when he came to the plant. He hired 
some men and boys and went to work packing the 
bristles in large bags, and his bride was put to work 
sewing up the mouths of the bags. When filled, the 
bags stood as high as her breast. There the poor 
little thing stood, on the roof, in the cold, with the 
raw March wind blowing her skirts in all directions. 
Nice way to treat a bride on her honeymoon. 

One day this mean cuss asked me if we did not 
have some sort of a rig, in which he could take his 
wife to the hair field, a distance of three miles in the 



His Life 81 

country. We had one of the homeliest looking mules 
that ever lived. I think his head would w^eigh two 
hundred pounds with the ears off, and with them on, 
two hundred and fifty pounds. We used him hitched 
to an old peddler wagon to follow the drove of hogs, 
for the purpose of picking up the slow or tired hogs. 
I told Mr. W. of this rig, saying it was the only thing 
we had about the place. He said he thought it would 
do well enough. So, tliinking he might take it, I told a 
foxy old German, who had charge of the mule, all 
about it. Also told him to get a large cow bell and 
fasten it around the neck of the mule and should our 
friend W. object to the bell, we would tell him the 
mule would not move a step without it. However, I 
think the bride drew the line on the mule. At any 
rate they did not take the ride. 

I had another odd experience with our friend Mr. 
W., in the hair business. For some time the hair mer- 
chants of the country were working individually, each 
one making the best trade he could ; but, like a great 
many others, they formed a trust, got together and 
parcelled off the different states and cities to the 
different firms, or companies. The largest concern, 
Wilkins & Company, took Chicago. Milwaukee was 
given to our friend Mr. W. 

Mr. W. waited in Chicago until the price per hog 
was fixed there, which was to be five cents per hog. 
I wired him at Chicago several messages, as to what 
we were to expect for our hair, but received no reply. 
Finally, after, the trades in Chicago were all closed, 
he came up to our office with a significant smile on 
his face, and offered me one-half cent under what was 



8r? Patrick Cudaiiv 



paid in Chicago. We always claimed that the Wis- 
consin hogs ran a little more to white, and owing to 
better fields, and better accomodation for drying the 
hair, we were entitled to a trifle more than what the 
Chicago packers were. So imagine my surprise, when 
my friend offered me one-half cent less. 

I saw through his little game. He understood, of 
course, that I would not have an opportunity to sell 
our hair to anybody but his concern, but I said to my- 
self, "Now, Mr. W., I cannot sell to anybody else, 
but neither can you buy from anybody else but me, 
so instead of selling you at one-half cent less than 
what was paid in Chicago, I am going to make you 
pay a half cent more." And I fixed my price at five 
and one-half cents. He laughed at me and said, 
"What are you going to do with your hair, if you 
don't sell it to me?" I said, "That is none of your 
business. I can throw it under the boiler and burn it 
if I want to. That is my price and you cannot get it 
any less." 

He hung around our of^ce and made himself a 
nuisance for about a week. I told him several times 
that it would be much pleasanter if he would go back 
home, but he was of the kind that you could not in- 
sult, and simply hung on, and finally had to come to 
time, paying me five and one-half cents. Then I said 
to him, "Now, Mr. W., next time you come to trade 
with me, be a man at the beginning, and you and I 
will get along very nicely." 

Now we will drop Mr. W., and go back to my posi- 
tion as superintendent. I was still young and thirsty 
for knowledge. Made a lot of experiments in differ- 



His Life 83 

ent ways, tests of fat, as to what it would render per 
hundred; also made tests of green meat, which was 
to be cured in dry salt, as to what it would shrink. Up 
to that time very little figuring was done in the pork 
packing business. They started in, in the fall of the 
year, bought the hogs, most of them dressed, from the 
farmers, killed a few themselves, put the stuff in the 
cellars, and sold it out during the summer, before the 
next season began. No track was kept as to shrink- 
age, or anything else. It was simply a matter of pay- 
ing out so much money in the winter time and get- 
ting it back again in the summer, with a little profit 
added to it. It was practically a sure thing, as there 
never was much more than enough meat to go 
around. 

But with the introduction of summer curing it be- 
came an every day business. Farmers raised more 
hogs and packing developed into a little more of a 
skilled business, where a man had to use his head 
some. I was constantly at work with my pencil, 
figuring what was the best brand of meats to make, 
whether certain fat would be better rendered into 
lard or made into pork. Also got on to a system of 
percentage, what percentage of ham there was to a 
hundred pounds of live hog, also the percentage of 
shoulder, side, and lard. In that way, by applying the 
price of each article to its percentage, we could figure 
out any time, whether we were getting as much for 
the manufactured product, as what we were paying 
for the hog, and if more, what our profits were. 

This was quite a source of enlightenment and a 
great guide as to what we were doing. I do not claim 



84 Patrick Cudahy 

that I was the only one that was doing this, for about 
everybody worked into it at the same time. 

I also established a system of keeping our manu- 
factured stock. Weighed the green pounds that went 
into the cellar, added this to the stock and when there 
was a shipment, it was deducted from the stock. This 
practically gave us our stock on hand at the close of 
each day. The same was done with barreled meats 
and pork. Each night a report was sent to the office, 
of the number of barrels packed, which was added to 
the stock, and when a shipment was made, it was 
taken from the stock. 

When we first began to weigh the green meat into 
the cellars, we did not allow anything for shrinkage 
in the process of curing, so when we came to clean up 
any particular lot, we usually fell short. It also threw 
us out on our averages, when meat was sold to aver- 
age a certain weight per piece. This I overcame by 
taking small quantities of each kind and making tests 
to get at what each kind would shrink. After estab- 
lishing an average basis, the shrinkage was figured off 
each night and only the net pounds added to the stock. 
In this way we managed to keep our stock about ac- 
curate. At times we would overrun a little or there 
would be some slight variation, one way or the other, 
but it was practically perfect. 

First when we began to kill during the summer 
months, it was a difficult matter to cool the lard, 
which came from the tanks at boiling heat. The 
method of cooling lard first adopted by summer 
slaughterers, was a continuous open trough, through 
which the lard ran, by gravity, several hundred feet. 



His Life 85 

But the best this would do, would be to bring the lard 
to the temperature of the room, and very rarely did 
that. 

I invented a cooler, consisting of a large box coil 
pipe, about forty feet in length and about eight or ten 
pipes in width. This was placed in a galvanized iron 
pan and cold water circulated through the pipes. 
Then had a corrugated pan placed on top of the pipes, 
with small holes directly over the center of each pipe. 
The lard was run into this pan and run down around 
the pipes, until it reached the pan below, where it was 
carried off in another pipe, to a vat and packed in 
tierces. 

This made an excellent cooler. I had it patented, 
costing me about seventy dollars, but about all the 
good the patent ever did me, was when, on one of my 
trips in later years, with my wife, to Washington, we 
went to the patent office and found the model. I after- 
ward learned that the brewers had a similar system 
for cooling beer, but did not know it at the time I 
built my own cooler. 

The summer slaughtering and curing, although 
not a perfect success, in the way of curing the meat 
so as to be free from taint, was very profitable, as but 
very few were engaged in it at that time. 

But our slaughtering and rendering departments 
were not in proportion to our refrigerating and cur- 
ing departments, so I decided to enlarge. Talked it 
over with Mr. P., and while he and Mr. A. were on a 
trip to Europe, in the year 1879, I built a large addi- 
tion to the slaughtering part, as well as to the render- 
ing department. 



so Patrick Cudahy 



The old i^entlcmaii must liavc heard of my doings 
while he was away, for he brought home from Geneva, 
Switzerland, as a present for me, a fine gold watch. 
I had the following inscription put in it, and have 
carried the watch ever since, prizing it many times 
beyond its intrinsic value: 

Presented to 
PATRICK CUDAHY 

by 

John Plankinton, Esq., 

on his return from Europe, 

Sept. nth, 1879. 

Mr. P. had one son, William, about thirty-five 
years of age at this time, out of whom he was trying 
to make a business man ; but the young man was over 
cautious, while the father was more comfortable when 
when he had a deal on in which there was some risk, 
tlian when he had none. It can easily be seen that 
they were not congenial, and every now and then the 
young man would express his disapproval of how 
things were being done. 

So along in 1883 the son retired from the busi- 
ness, and I was invited by his father to come to the 
down town office, on West Water Street, between 
Fowler and Clybourn Streets, daily, as well as to ac- 
company him on change. Or, in other words, I was to 
take a hand in the business in a general way, assist- 
ing in directing the ship. I received all the telegrams 
and decided on those that contained ofTers or bids, 
whether or not to sell. If I did not think the bid was 
high enough, I made a counter price, etc., etc. 



His Life 87 

I now kept a horse and buggy. Drove to the pack- 
ing house the first thing in the morning, then, about 
nine o'clock, went to the office, and from there on 
change at noon. In the afternoon I visited the plant 
for a couple of hours, then wound up at the office. I 
pushed the English meat trade and ran the house to 
its full capacity. 

My senior grew to believe in me and had such 
faith in me after awhile, that he would not do any- 
thing without consulting me. It was sometimes em- 
barrassing to have him lean on me so much. It was 
also embarrassing to be advanced ahead of the old 
office employees, and there was considerable jealousy 
among them. But it did not take long to make them 
feel that the fellow from the slaughterhouse was there 
to stay and the sooner they fell into line, the better 
for themselves. 

There never was a better pair of men hooked up 
together than Mr. P. and Mr. A. The former was a 
man standing six feet high, straight as a dart, with a 
very long, peaked face and head, from the top of his 
head to his chin, a large nose, smooth face and a pair 
of sharp, piercing eyes. He had a limited education, 
but a lot of natural intelligence. He would guess the 
number of pounds in a pile of meat of a million pounds 
and when it was weighed, he would not be far out of 
the way. 

When I first took charge of his house, he did his 
bookkeeping in his head. The first thing he would 
do mornings would be to catechise me about what was 
done the previous day, how many hogs were killed, 
how many were in the pens alive, how many pounds 



88 Patrick Cudahy 

of this kind of meat was made and how many of an- 
other kind, etc., etc. When I first be^an, I fell down 
with some of my answers, still he did not mind, but 
asked another. It was not long before I made it a 
point to be prepared for him, which was what he 
wanted. He was training me. To most of the ques- 
tions he knew the answers better than I did, but he 
knew I could not, or would not, make a good super- 
intendent, without being well posted. He was also a 
kind man, and when I made mistakes, as I often did, 
he shut his eye to them. 

Mr. P. was a Presbyterian, and I think was a 
thorough believer in the pre part of his religion. He 
was an optimist and I think believed it was pre- 
arranged that he was to lead in life. 

During the civil war he was an ardent patriot, but 
it never occurred to him to volunteer and shoulder a 
musket himself. It is said that crossing the street one 
day in front of his oflfice, he stopped an Irish drayman 
and said, "Why don't you go to the war?" "I have no 
one at home to droive me horse, sor," said the dray- 
man. "Why don't you sell your horse?" asked Mr. P. 
The Irishman was quick with his answer, "Faith, I 
can't get anyone to buy him." "What is he worth?" 
asked Mr. P. "One hundred and fifty dollars, sor," 
answered the drayman. Then Mr. P. said, "Come 
over to the office and I'll give you a check for him." 
The Irishman spoke up, "Well, not today, sor. I'll 
think it over." 

The other partner, Mr. A., was not what we call 
now an educated man. He was a man of figures, a 



His Life 89 

clear headed, sharp trader. He had never had any 
experience in the meat or live stock business until he 
met Mr. P., probably at the age of thirty years, yet 
before he died, he was one of the leading packers. 
Often he told about Vv^hen he first went to a stock 
yard, owned by an Englishman, named Munn, who 
was blind of one eye and wore a green leather patch 
over it. Munn had contempt for anyone who was not 
a judge of live stock and as Mr. A. entered the yards 
with his partner, Mr. Munn sang out, "There goes 
P.'s new partner. He don't know a hog from an um- 
brella," Mr. A. later on in years, when prosperity 
crowned his efforts, used to enjoy telling this story on 
himself. 

In Chicago he was very successful. He took a 
house there, which had been managed by his brother, 
who died young. The house had been somewhat run 
down, owing to the brother's poor health for years 
before he died, and my oldest brother as superintend- 
ent and manager of the packing plant, with Mr, A., as 
the captain at the down town office, made a first class 
team to put new life into the business, which they did 
at a lively gait. Mr. A. was a tireless worker and a 
great organizer. He was a good judge of men and 
when he had them placed in their positions, did all he 
could to encourage them, and push them to the front. 

On one occasion, after I had been in our down 
town office for awhile, and as I have stated, I was 
somewhat of a greeny (I now imagine that he knew 
just how I felt), he telegraphed up on a Saturday to 
Mr. P., that he was coming up that evening and 



90 Patrick Cidahy 



wanted Mr. i\ and myself to meet him at the Plankin- 
ton House. Mr. P. conveyed the information to me, 
which almost paralyzing^ me with fear, thinking that 
I was about to lose my job, or something terrible was 
going to happen. But after supper I spruced up and 
at the appointed hour was at the Plankinton House 
to meet the big man from Chicago. 

We met in one of the parlors in the hotel. To my 
surprise, instead of giving me a dressing down for 
something I had done, or neglected to do, the meeting 
was called to make me feel easy — to make me feel 
that I was a partner and as much as I could be made 
to feel, his equal. He told several humorous stories 
about himself and others, and made a very good en- 
tertainer for the evening. I went home very much 
more inflated than what I felt when leaving the house 
to attend the meeting. 

At the time I did not quite see through it. but 
later on, it was all clear to me that his only purpose 
in calling that meeting, was to brace me up and give 
me more confidence in myself; as I have said, to make 
me feel that I was one of the firm. It was a grand 
thing to do and it took a big man to do it, for I was 
only a boy. I might sav, so far as business experience 
was concerned, compared with the two gentlemen 
with w'hom I was associated. 

Another time he came up from Chicago, called at 
the down town office and said, "Pat, I would like to 
go out to the packing house, but if you are too busy, 
do not bother with me. Pll get a cab and go out 
alone." This was another stroke, of course, to swell 



His Life 91 

me up a little. I mention those little things simply 
to show what a very clever man he was. 

On one occasion I rode to Chicago with him in 
the same car. He gave me a good deal of his own ex- 
perience when he first became a partner of Mr. P.'s. 
Said at that time he was inclined to go down town, 
meet the boys in the evening, take a few drinks, some- 
times a glass more than he should, and would look 
drowsy and have a sore head next day. Went on to 
say that ]\Ir. P. invited him out for a buggy ride one 
day. They drove for miles around the city. During 
the drive Mr. P. was continually whipping him, over 
the shoulder of somebody else, who had been living 
about the same kind of a life as he was living then. 
Mr. A. said that after they had finished the buggy 
ride he made a firm resolution that Mr. P. would 
never again have occasion to lecture him indirectly in 
that way. And I myself felt that Mr. A.'s account of 
his experience with Mr. P. was intended as a curtain 
lecture for me and I took it that way. 

Those two big men entered into business as part- 
ners without ever having a single contract in writing, 
or a stroke of a pen, and continued that way for about 
twenty years. Then Mr. A.'s interest was growing so 
fast in Chicago, as well as in Kansas City and New 
York, that he suggested a dissolution of partnership, 
which was brought about in the year 1885. 

Before we leave Mr. A., I wish to relate one great 
transaction which was credited to him. Along in the 
early seventies there was a very strong provision firm 
that came to Milwaukee from Montreal, Canada. 



02 Patrick Cudaiiy 



They had a large clientage throughout Canada and 
handled a great deal of pork. 

One evening, while Mr. A. and a principal member 
of this firm, were taking a toddy, in one of the prin- 
cipal resorts of the city, our friend from Montreal in- 
troduced a business subject, asking Mr. A. what he 
was doing in pork. The conversation drifted along, 
when at last our friend from Montreal blufifed Mr. A. 
for a trade on twenty-five thousand barrels of mess 
pork, and Mr. A., as the story goes, sold him the 
pork. 

Next day Mr. P., of the firm P. and A., made his 
usual visit on change. Mr. A. remained in his office. 
The Montreal man met Mr. P., and said, "Where is 
your partner today?" Mr. P. said, "He is over at the 
office." "Why didn't he come over? I bought twenty- 
five thousand barrels of mess pork from him last 
evening and want to talk with him about it. I expect 
him to deliver it to me promptly," explained the 
Montreal man. Mr. P. went back to the office and 
related his conversation with the man. Mr. A. said, 
"Why, that was not a trade, it was only a joke." 
"Well," Mr. P. said, "Your friend from Montreal does 
not look on it as a joke and demands the pork." 

The Montreal man felt quite jubilant, thinking, as 
there was very little pork in sight, he had Mr. A. in 
a corner and was bound to pinch him for a good bit 
of money. But Mr. A. was equal to the occasion. 
He took one of my brothers with him, scoured the 
country, visiting every little town throughout the 
State of Wisconsin and other states where there was 



His Life 93 

any pork to be had. They purchased whatever they 
could find, repacked it and put it in shape, and were 
successful in securing the whole twenty-five thousand 
barrels, which they delivered to our friend from 
Montreal, breaking his corner and causing him to 
lose a good bit of money. This was a great victory 
for Mr. A., and probably one of the big strides toward 
giving him confidence in himself and making a good 
fighter of him. 



CHAPTER V. 

A short time before this I had made up my mind 
that I was now getting along to about the time I 
should take a partner for life, or as they say, a help- 
meet. I had been drifting about among the girls with 
whom I was acquainted, attending little parties and 
one thing and another, keeping my weather eye 
peeled. Found quite a few of them that I could play 
and cut up with, but I had not yet found the one that 
I would marry. 

At a dancing party a young lady friend of mine 
was giving, she told me she would introduce me to 
some nice girl the next week. I did not know exactly 
what she meant, but when we got into the next week, 
I received an invitation to attend a party at the house 
of one of her friends. There she introduced me to a 
couple of young ladies and seemed to have the pins 
set up for me with one particular person. Yet the 
person she had picked out for me was not the one 
that attracted me. 

There was another there, with rosy cheeks and 
laughing eyes, to whom my heart went out as soon as 
I laid my eyes on her. I managed to have a dance 
with her and a little tete-a-tete in the corner, but 
when it came time for refreshments I was told that I 
was to take the other lady to supper, so did not have 
an opportunity to make very good use of my time that 
evening. 

95 



90 Patrick Cudahy 



From tlie party I walked home with another 
young lady, who was a school teacher and a friend of 
the .s^irl I was smitten on, who was also a school 
teacher. No matter what subject for conversation 
would be introduced, T would switch back to the girl 
with the rosy cheeks and laughing eyes. 

About a week later, there was another party, ar- 
ranged by the same lady, at another house. The same 
girls were there, and again I was paired off with the 
same girl who was picked out for me at the party of 
the week before. Nevertheless, I managed to have 
several chats with the girl of my heart. The chairs 
were again arranged at the supper table the same as 
before and, somehow or other, some other chap man- 
aged to take my girl home again. 

But I was acquainted with another school teacher, 
an elderly person, who taught school and kept house 
at the same time, for the benefit of a younger sister. 
I called on this elderly lady and made a confident of 
her. Told her I wanted her to invite my particular 
school teacher to her house and have me there the 
same evening, which she kindly did. So that gave me 
a good fair start, which I followed up from time to 
time, growing more ardent as time went on. Yet I 
never was a very good hand at courting, for I did not 
have the small talk that most the fellows have, and 
which a great many girls appreciate. 

My intended bride boarded wnth a maiden lady, 
where there were two other young ladies, who also 
had "steadies." and occasionally we would all meet 
in the parlor at the same time. One of the young 
men was a terrible chatterbox. He could talk for a 



His Life 97 

dozen and when the evening was past, nobody knew 
what he had been saying. During a visit such as this 
I would be as dumb as an oyster, for I never was able 
to join in anything like chitter-chatter. 

If it got to politics, or business, or the latest news- 
paper sensation, or something that way, I could take 
a hand in the conversation; but with the light jabber, 
I was not in it. So at times I appeared very awkward, 
yet my girl seemed to understand me and things went 
on fairly well. 

Of course we had an occasional spat, as all lovers 
do. One that I remember in particular was at a public 
dance, given by some society, which we attended. 
Another young man seemed to have gotten in his 
work pretty well and engaged my girl for several of 
the dances, and, stupid-like, I sat around nursing my 
supposed injury. But she generally treated me with 
perfect indifference when it came to a row, and let me 
take my own time for cooling ofT. 

Finally, after about a year and a half of courtship, 
I popped the question. I was not given an answer 
then, but was told that I would have to wait awhile 
for my answer, I waited quite awhile, and still no 
answer, but time brought me good news, and I have 
always felt that I was one of the luckiest men that 
ever lived, to get such a charming girl for a wife. 

She was educated and refined and I was inclined 
to be a good deal of a rough diamond, harsh, trampl- 
ing people under my feet. She often reprimanded me 
for this sort of thing and did a whole lot toward 
knocking off the rough corners, although I think 
there is plenty of room still for improvement. 



OS Patritk Cudaiiy 



We were married about a year before I received 
my interest in the firm. I had accumulated about 
seven thousand dollars, with which 1 bought a nice 
little home, a two story brick veneered house, on 
Thirteenth Street, between Wells Street and Grand 
Avenue. 

One evening, when we had started out for a walk, 
my wife turned around and looked back at the house, 
and said, "I never thought I would have such a pretty 
home, I might call my own, to live in." 

When we first began married life she did her own 
housework. All the money I gave her to run the 
house was fifty dollars a month. Of course, I pro- 
vided the meat and coal, etc., but for groceries and 
other incidentals, all she had was fifty dollars, and she 
was very happy and well satisfied. 

Our courtship v^'as rather tame. She was at work 
teaching school. Although she held an "A" cer- 
tificate, she taught in a small school located just west 
of where the Catholic Orphan Asylum now stands. 
The street cars did not run in that direction then, and 
a good deal of the time she walked, a good four miles 
from where she lived, on Fifth Street, near Sycamore 
Street. A pretty plucky little school ma'am, wasn't 
she ? I was up to my eyes in work, for it was just the 
time that responsibilities were being thrust upon me 
and I was always up and dressed and ready for more. 
Never did I complain about my work, or my salary, 
and my employers seemed to appreciate me all the 
more on that account. 

But to get back to our courtship. In the language 
and customs of today, I was something of a "cheap- 




Miss A n n \ M xudkn 




Patrick Ctuaiiv 
AcK 20 



His Life 99 

skate." We went to the theater occasionally, when- 
ever there was anything good in town, generally 
walked, or took a street car. Quite frequently we 
went to church, especially to evening services. 
Church is the cheapest place a fellow can take his girl. 

She used to wear a very nice tight fitting seal skin 
coat and in one of my generous moods, I called at a 
fur store and selected what I thought was a very 
pretty fur hat. It was made sort of long, from front 
to back, turned up on the sides, with a brown feather 
sticking up, pointing backward. She did the polite 
act, by accepting it, in a very gracious manner, said it 
was lovely, and all that sort of thing. But the first 
time I saw it aft^r that, it was so altered in shape, 
that I did not recognize it. 

In another mood, I bought a cameo set, a pair of 
earrings and a brooch. Don't know what the trouble 
was this time — the earring season must have been go- 
ing out, or something. In order to show her apprecia- 
tion she wore them a few times, but in a short time 
one of the earrings was converted into a scarf pin and 
the other into a finger ring. So I began to think I had 
better hint around a little, before making any more 
purchases. 

When the time came to ask the consent of her 
father, who lived on a farm at Pewaukee, to our mar- 
riage, I wrote him a plain declaration, stating that I 
had been keeping company with his daughter; that I 
loved her and felt certain she reciprocated mv love, 
and with his consent, I would like to make her my 
wife. In due time he replied that Annie was his 
favorite daughter, but he would not stand in the way 
of our happiness, wished us God speed, etc., etc. 



100 T'atrick CrnAiiv 



Wc did not do as they do nowadays, ^o off on an 
extended weddinfj;' trip, but settled riq-ht down in our 
new home. The next mornint^ the first thinie^ I heard 
was my wife, sinj^ing- while she was at work cooking 
our breakfast, which I ate with a relish and went off 
to mv work as usual. 

Shortly after we were married, the firm had some 
trouble about hams, sold to a party in Pittsburg. I 
was asked to go down to straighten it out. Invited 
my wife to join me, and this was our only wedding 
trip. In Chicago, on the way to Pittsburg, we stood 
waiting for a street car to take us across town. It 
was dreadfully hot. I had on a long linen duster, and 
must have looked like a rube, for a young newspaper 
boy said to another nearby, eyeing me all the while. 
"Jirnmy, lets go harvesting." I received the shot with 
a smile, saying, "Serves me right, I should not appear 
on the streets of Chicago in such an outfit." 

I was loaded with business, irritated at times, and 
think now probably I was not quite as kind to my 
wife as I might have been. I was strong and healthy 
and she was weak and frail from having children, and 
I think there were times that I might have been a 
little more gentle and spoken more kindly. Feel that 
if I had to live my life over again. I could improve a 
little along those lines. Yet there never were any 
quarrels or never any bitter feeling between us to 
amount to anything. 

I simply mention this, as I have sometimes felt 
like accusing myself, as I believe open confession is 
good for the mind as well as the soul. 



CHAPTER VI. 

Now to go back to the business. About the year 
1885 Mr. A. and Mr. P. dissolved partnership. My 
interest was increased to a quarter and the firm 
name changed to John Plankinton & Company, my- 
self being the company. 

This partnership ran on for a couple of years, dur- 
ing which period we got into quite a lard deal. Lard 
was selling in March for May delivery at something 
like six and one-half cents. The stock in Chicago was 
only thirty thousand tierces. We started to buy it in 
a small way, but gradually getting more and more, 
until we had something like one hundred thousand 
tierces bought, and the price was but very little differ- 
ent than what it was when we began. About this time 
Mr. P. began to lose his nerve and very often com- 
plained, finding fault with himself for becoming in- 
volved in such a deal. 

To begin with I was rather adverse to going into 
it at all. But about the time Mr. P. began to lose his 
nerve, I began to feel more confident and said to him 
one day, "If you are afraid of this lard, I will take a 
half interest in it." He took me up on the spot. From 
that on I was a full partner in the lard deal, but only a 
quarter partner in the packing business. Though I 
was a full partner, I was obliged to obey orders as to 
whether lard should be bought or sold, on account of 
our relationship in the other business. 

101 



10*^* l\\TKiCK Cl'r)A^^• 



It ran on and we continued to buy. As the new 
season, beginning November first, approached, Mr. P. 
was more nervous than ever. We had a severe 
drought that summer, and as a shortage of hogs as 
well as much poorer quality of hogs always follow a 
drought and poorer ([uality meant decrease in the 
production of lard. I wanted Mr. P. to pay for the 
lard, build a large shed adjoining our packing house, 
pile it up there and borrow money on it and await re- 
sults. But I could not hold him. We sold out the 
lard, making a loss of about three hundred thousand 
dollars, of which one hundred fifty was mine, half of 
all I possessed at the time. 

The house made quite a bit of profit that year, but 
as my interest was only twenty-five per cent, it did 
not begin to offset the loss I had in the lard. 

This experience taught me a good lesson, how- 
ever, and was probably worth all it cost. It was quite 
trying, for I had to meet my friends and laugh good 
naturedly, accept their compliments on the profits we 
were making, while I was sweating blood and walked 
the plank at night, brooding over the real situation. 
I never showed the white feather, however, in talking 
with Mr. P. I afterward was told by others, who heard 
him speak of me in a very flattering way, that he said 
I was game to the back bone ; that he had known of 
where I was in the tightest kind of a box and never 
squealed. 

The next year we were anxious to recoup the 
money we lost in the lard, and by being over anxious, 
did not make as much money in the business as we 
would have done, if we had acted differently. 



His Life 103 

The old gentleman was a natural born speculator 
and had lost complete control of himself along about 
this time. 

Let me tell you about another occasion. 

Mr. P. and Mr. A. planned a trip to California. 
Mr. P. before he left the office intimated to me that 
he would get Mr, A. into another pork corner; but I 
had heard Mr. A. declare so often that he would never 
get into another deal, that I did not believe Mr. P. 
would be successful in influencing him. They were 
not more than started, however, when I received a 
message from Mr. P., instructing me to buy in any 
pork we had sold. I did not heed him, but wired 
back I had not bought in, but had sold some more. 

I received another message, characteristic of the 
old gentleman, which read, "Buy in that pork, I know 
what I am talking about." This set me thinking, and 
the following day I received a letter from Mr. P. He 
was not a very good letter writer and did not make 
matters plain enough, so I decided to get on the train 
and overhaul them. Wired him that I would take the 
train and meet him at New Orleans. Acting accord- 
ingly, I took the train that night out of Chicago. 

For some reason or other they did not wait for 
me, but moved on to Galveston. I did not stop, how- 
ever, until I had an interview with them and took the 
first train for Galveston, where I met him and got a 
full statement about their actions. 

My experience with the lard deal was such that I 
was like the burnt child who shunned the fire, and in- 
formed Mr. P., if he was going to engage in another 
corner, he could count me out. He had such absolute 



T^l Patrick Cudahy 



confidence in their success that he stated if the deal 
made money I would get my share of it and if it lost 
money, he would stand the whole of it. I said that 
was fair enough, and left for home. 

The deal, however, turned out to be quite dis- 
astrous, and though the public generally figured that 
there was a great deal of profit made, the facts were 
that Mr, P.'s share of the loss was about one hundred 
and fifty thousand dollars. 

In the spring of 1886 I had my first experience 
with a strike. There was a great labor movement 
throughout the country. This was during the reign 
of the Knights of Labor with Mr. Powderly at the 
head. The whole country seemed to be infected with 
a germ of discontent. Almost every laboring man in 
the country was enrolled in the organization known 
as the Knights of Labor, and of course, our men were 
no exception. 

This was during the time I was superintendent, as 
well as taking a hand in running the business at the 
office. 

I called the foremen of the different departments 
together and asked them if they did not think most of 
their men were knights. They did not seem to think 
so, yet I was firmly convinced that such was the case, 
so I instructed each one of the foremen to put the 
question straight to their men, as to whether or not 
they were enrolled. The result was that practically 
every man in our house belonged to the Knights of 
Labor. 

There seemed to be trouble in the air everywhere. 
In Chicago at the stock yards Mr. A. was acting as a 



His Life 105 

general chief, sending rifles by the wagon load out to 
my brother at the stock yards. The air seemed to be 
pregnant with excitement about strikes, labor 
troubles, etc. 

I made up my mind the best way to do was to shut 
down the house until the trouble blew over, so I went 
to work, killed what hogs we had on hand, ran them 
into our refrigerator and then announced it publicly 
that the plant would be closed for an indefinite period. 
After doing this I went among the men on whom I 
thought I could rely and notified them privately that 
they could come to work, but to my surprise I had 
mighty few the next day, as of course, it was under- 
stood that if they were knights they were not to come. 

However, we had a fair little gang and went on to 
cut the hogs we had in the refrigerator and took care 
of our fresh meat trade as best we could. This went 
on for about a week. 

There were other labor troubles in the city, par- 
ticularly at the rolling mills. The men became ex- 
cited, formed into marching mobs and were moving 
on the rolling mills. Sturdy Jerry Rusk was our 
governor at that time. Our mayor being rather weak- 
ly, a number of Milwaukee's most prominent men got 
together and made an appeal to the governor to quell 
the riots. The governor called out the militia. A 
number of them were stationed at the rolling mills at 
the time the mob was making a demonstration. They 
got in close contact and the militia was given orders 
to fire. One man was killed and a few wounded. I 
felt certain that this would break the backbone of the 
disturbance. 



lOt! Patrick Cudaiiv 



1 swore in about six of our most trustworthy em- 
ployees as special police to guard the premises, then 
advertised for men. My advertisement read : 

MEN WANTED— By John Plankinton & Co. 
No distinction made as to union, non-union, na- 
tionality, color, or creed. 

I also applied to the chief of police for a few 
officers to keep order. The result of my ad w^as that 
quite a large number of men applied at the packing 
house the next morning. 

In the meantime our old employees were congre- 
gated in groups outside, yet were not willing to apply 
for work, only as Knights of Labor, but when they 
saw the strangers coming to work they weakened, and 
it was not long before the trouble was over and we 
were working in harmony again. 

During this time, after straightening things out at 
the packing house, I drove one morning to the office 
on West Water Street. Mr. P. met me with fire in 
his eye and said, "The place for you now, during this 
trouble, is at the packing house." I said, "Alright, 
sir, I am not afraid to be there, so I will return and 
remain there until this thing is over." 

One of our principal foremen at the time nearly 
had a stroke of paralysis when I told him I was going 
to advertise for men, so thoroughly frightened was he 
over the situation. 

Another incident I wish to relate occurred while 
I was in the office this very same morning. A large, 
tall Scandinavian came in and approached Mr. P., 
saying, "I look for work." "What kind of work are 



His Life 107 

you looking for?" asked Mr. P. ''I can do anything. 
Put me behind the desk, give me a pen, I will show 
you." 

Meantime the fellow had pulled out a photograph 
of a woman saying, "Look at that picture." Mr. P. 
said, "That is a beautiful woman." "That is my 
wife," said the Scandinavian, "Would you have her 
starve?" Mr. P. replied, "No, sir, she's too handsome 
a woman to starve." The Scandinavian said, "Now 
you speak kind," and went off in a very happy mood. 

The old gentleman's tact and flattery did him 
good service that time, for the fellow was under the 
influence of liquor and might have made a trouble- 
some scene if he had not been handled so tactfully. 

Mr. P. became involved in other deals that also 
went wrong, so much so that he began to lose con- 
fidence in himself and decided to retire and take it 
easy the balance of his life. 

One day he informed me of his plans, at the same 
time informing me that his son W., was anxious to 
take possession of the business. He said, "I know it 
is the worst decision he ever made in his life, but I 
cannot help it, so you had better make plans accord- 
ingly." And whether he was anxious to get me out 
of Milwaukee, so that it would be easier for his son, 
or whether it was pure kindness, I know not, but one 
day, without saying a word to me about it, he went to 
Chicago and had a conference with his old partner, 
Mr. A. Mr. A. had just taken on a branch house at 
Omaha and was at that time making up the organiza- 
tion to run the house. 

Mr, P. suggested my name as manager and part- 



108 Patrick Cudahy 



ncr in the new house. He came home and next day 
informed me as to what he had done, stating that his 
suggestion met the approval of Mr. A., and all there 
was for me to do was to accept and the position and 
partnership was mine. 

This was such a great surprise that it almost took 
my breath away. I thanked him very much, saying I 
would like a little time to consider it. 

I know, from previous conversations with my 
oldest brother, that he had his eye on the Omaha 
house. So I wired Mr. A., asking if my brother was 
in Chicago and received a reply stating he was in 
Omaha, suggesting I go out there and see him. That 
very evening I took the train out of Chicago, arriving 
in Omaha next morning. But just as soon as my eyes 
met my brother's, I saw his disappointment. He had 
learned of Mr. P.'s suggestion, and although he was 
very kind and courteous with me, he could not con- 
ceal his disappointment in the turn affairs had taken. 
I decided right then and there, though I did not tell 
my brother so. to decline the offer. I felt it might be 
the cause of some feeling between my brother and 
myself. 

On my return from Omaha, I called at Mr. A.'s 
office, thanked him, stating I would give him a final 
answer inside of a week. I knew^ there was a great 
future in store for me if I accepted, but the more I 
debated with myself, the more I was convinced that 
my first impulse was the proper one ; so I finally 
wrote Mr. A., declining the ofTer. 

Then my brother felt it was his duty to provide 
something equally as good for me. He sent a pro- 



His Lifk 109 

motor, who was promoting stock yards and the pack- 
ing industry at Sioux City. I went out to Sioux City 
with the man and had a talk with the land owners, in 
whose interest he was working. They agreed to give 
me fifteen acres of land, build a good sized packing 
house on it and donate me one hundred thousand dol- 
lars, providing I would agree to go there and run the 
house for at least five years. A contract, or an agree- 
ment, binding both parties, was drawn up and signed 
to that effect. But after the contract had been signed 
I stated that if they were to continue soliciting and in- 
duce others to locate there, they could count me out ; 
that if I were to locate there, it would be for the pur- 
pose of running a packing house to make money, and 
not for the purpose of booming land. In fact, this 
was part of our agreement. 

But I had not much more than reached home, 
when the newspapers published an account of another 
concern, by the name of Fowler & Company, who had 
signed a contract to go there. I immediately wrote 
the parties, stating that they could consider our con- 
tract cancelled. 

Some time afterward I was in Chicago and met 
one of the Sioux City men. We both went into my 
brother's office and signed a cancellation of the con- 
tract, 

I informed Mr. P. of this. "Well," said he, "What 
do you think of doing now?" "I am going to remain 
right here," said I, "build me a snug little house and 
do what I can here." "Well," he said, "wait awhile 
and maybe I will have something to offer you." But 



I 10 I^ATRICK CunAIIV 



after three weeks or so, he told me I had better go 
ahead with my plans ; that he had thought he would 
be able to persuade VV. to give up the idea of taking 
the house, but it was of no avail, he was bound to 
have it. Mr. P. said, "I think it is the worst day's 
work he ever did, but I can't help that." 

So I looked around and bought a nice site, located 
between the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway 
and the Burnham Canal, fronting Muskego Avenue. 
After making the purchase I told Mr. P. about it. He 
said it was a good location and that it was worth the 
money. 

About three weeks after this he said, I have got 
W. now so I can talk business with you. "But," said 
I, "I have purchased a site for a packing house of my 
own." "Oh, that will be alright," said he, "I will take 
care of that." 

I had two hundred thousand dollars myself, which 
he knew of, so he suggested my getting each of my 
brothers in Chicago to invest two hundred thousand 
dollars with me, making a capital of six hundred thou- 
sand dollars and he would turn over the Plankinton 
Packing Company plant, brands, and good will, and 
in lieu of a stipulated rent, he would accept twenty 
per cent of our net profit each year, for the use of 
same; that if there was no profit, I paid no rent. If 
there was a loss, it was to be deducted from the next 
year's profits before any rent was paid. I was to keep 
the property insured for one hundred twenty-five 
thousand dollars and return it in as good condition as 
we received it, etc., etc. 

We dickered and compromised on fifteen per cent 



His Life 111 

instead of twenty per cent. But when I broached the 
subject to my brothers, my oldest brother found he 
could not furnish his portion. My brother John came 
to the front in good shape, saying he would furnish 
the whole four hundred thousand and we became 
equal partners, I putting my labor against the differ- 
ence in the capital. He never had reason to regret it, 
for it is now twenty-two years since, and I think I 
have paid him near on to two million dollars in 
dividends and he still owns more than four hundred 
thousand dollars stock in Cudahy Brothers Company. 

We bought out Mr. Plankinton as per contract in 
October, 1888. Our lease contract ran for five years 
with the privilege of renewal for five years more. 

This deal caused quite a sensation at the time and 
the live stock commission men were in the dumps. 
The idea of a youngster like myself, undertaking to 
run a business of such magnitude ! It was presumptu- 
ous! Some of them began making plans to move 
their business to Chicago. They felt that I could not 
swing the thing; that it was only a question of time 
when I would fail. The very best they could hope 
for, was a one-horse business. But I fooled them 
all — I pitched right in and ran the house to its full 
capacity, kept our stuff sold up close, so that I did 
not require such a lot of money. We bought our hogs 
early in the day, or just as soon as they were ready to 
sell them. The shippers were well satisfied, it made 
Milwaukee an attractive market, brought more hogs 
here, and everything went along swimmingly. 

We continued in business in this way, until the ex- 
piration of the first five years, ending in the fall of 



112 Patrick rrn\Hv 



1893. In the meantime, my old friend and benefactor 
had passed away. He had a stroke of creeping paraly- 
sis shortly after he retired and gradually grew worse, 
dying in the spring of 1891. I was now obliged to 
deal with his son W. 

After wc had been working about a year and a 
half, I felt that in order to have perfect success in cur- 
ing our meats, it would be necessary for us to put in 
an ice machine. I called on Mr. W. P., stated my 
case, saying that it would be necessary for us to have 
an ice machine, and as the plant was his, I felt that he 
should install the machine and make the additional 
improvement which was necessary. His reply to this 
was, he had no money to spare, if I wanted such 
things, I would have to pay for them myself. I said, 
"Alright, but let it be understood that when our lease 
expires, that machine is ours and we shall take it out 
when we vacate the property." He told me I had 
better consult my lawyer before I decided on those 
plans. This ended our conversation about the matter. 

I went to work and put in the ice machine, also 
built an addition to the plant, which was necessary, 
spending in all about forty thousand dollars. This we 
charged to expense account, and when we made our 
report to the Plankinton Estate at the closing of our 
year's business, it made our expense account show up 
rather large. 

W. P. got a lawyer's opinion as to whether or not 
we had the right to enlarge and improve his property 
and charge it to expense account. The lawyer that he 
went to was the same man that drew up the contract 
between his father and myself. I presume he felt 



His Life 113 

obliged to give W. P. an opinion, so, with a lot of 
lawyer phrases, wrote out an opinion that he did not 
think the contract contemplated any additional build- 
ings or large expenditures of money; that it simply 
provided for the keeping of the property in repair, 
etc., etc. 

One of W. P.'s trusted employees called on me one 
day, with this long typewritten document, straight- 
ened up, or rather leaned backward, and read it to me 
with an air of great importance. 

After he had finished reading I was thoroughly 
disgusted, and said to him, "What in the world is the 
matter with you fellows? My only object in putting 
in this ice machine and adding to the value of the 
plant is with a view of making more money. And if I 
succeed in making more money it simply increases 
the amount that you get for the use of your plant. 
Do you want to tie my hands, so I cannot be success- 
ful and do as other up-to-date business men do?" 

He gave me a dry smile and said, "I have carried 
out my orders, which is all I have to say." 

He left the typewritten document with me and in 
a day or two I took it to one of our principal law 
firms and happened to meet the principal of the firm, 
who was a good, level headed, sensible man, as well as 
a good lawyer. I explained the situation to him as I 
saw it and then gave him the document to read. 

He read it over and gave a good hearty laugh and 
said, "Cudahy, you could not do anything different 
except what you propose to do. There is no business 
that stands still. It either goes forward or backward. 
You are making this expenditure for the purpose of 



114 Patrick CunAin 



increasiiii^ the capacity of your business. You liave 
charged tlie cost of it to expense account and when 
you vacate the premises, you propose to estimate the 
value of it and credit the amount back to expense ac- 
count, that is, in case you take it out." 

I said, "That is exactly what I propose to do." 

But my friend W. P. must have taken advice with 
some one else, at least the matter was dropped and 
there was nothing more said or done about it. 

This unpleasant incident had its effect on me and 
did not tend to change my opinion of W. P. So after 
the third year, nearing the end of the fourth year of 
our contract, I felt that we could afford to have a 
plant of our own and fully made up my mind to ar- 
range matters that way. 

But w^ien my friend W. P. became aware of the 
situation and realized that the property would be 
thrown back on his hands, he weakened. Up to this 
time he had talked and acted as though I had bull- 
dozed his father into a very profitable contract for 
myself, but now that he had the matter to deal with 
himself, he felt different. 

And when it came to the scratch and we were 
about to vacate his plant he was willing to have me 
remain there, and in fact implored me to do so. at 
one-half of the rental that we had been paying. It 
showed that when he had an opportunity to take the 
property and organize a business of his own he 
weakened. 

Now I am coming to the winter (but in my case it 
was the summer) of my discontent. Up to this time 
things had gone on swimmingly. My brother John, 



His Life 115 

who was a full partner with me, had been very suc- 
cessful in all his undertaking's and had accumulated 
a fortune of about four million dollars. This, with my 
own success, caused me to feel that we should have 
our own plant instead of remaining with Plankinton 
in the old tumbled down house in the valley, and as 
my relations and business intercourse with William 
Plankinton were not of the pleasantest nature, I de- 
cided to surrender the plant to him at the expiration 
of the first five years and buy property and build one 
of our own. 

With that in view I got a county map, looked it 
over, and selected a site located about two miles south 
of the south limits of Milwaukee on the Chicago & 
North-Western Railroad. Up to this time there had 
not been a station there, although it was known as 
Buckhorn. It was about a mile west of the lake, and 
the highest point between Milwaukee and Chicago, 
which afforded good drainage and good water supply. 

I engaged a man to go among the farmers in this 
locality and take options on land. We got options 
good for one year on about eight hundred acres of 
land. The prices ranged from three hundred to fifteen 
hundred dollars an acre. We were not obliged to pay 
anything for the options and the understanding was 
that if we were to purchase, we were to pay one 
quarter of the purchase price down, the balance in 
one, two and three years. 

I began this about a year prior to the expiration of 
my lease with Plankinton and had accepted on most 
of the land, made the first payment, had plans made 
for my buildings, and had them pretty well under way 
when the Panic of '93 set in. 



110 Patrick CrnAiiv 



My brother who was always clear headed and suc- 
cessful in all his deals up to this time, was caught 
with some very heavy deals on hand. I was aware of 
this and was about as much interested in wheat and 
lard as what he was. I watched the ticker for a couple 
of months about as closely as if the deals were my 
own. One day it would look as though everything 
was goinc;- through alright. The next day it would 
appear the other way. 

With me, so far as the carrying out of my plans 
for the large plant was concerned, it was one day "I 
will" and the next day "I won't." One day I would 
feel that the plant could not be any too large and the 
next day one half the size of my plans would be large 
enough. 

This unsettled condition ran on until about August 
first, 1893. I had the buildings practically completed 
and all the equipment, such as boilers, tanks, ice ma- 
chines, etc., contracted for. Also had accepted on 
practically all of the land. The buildings contained 
about ten million brick and the same number of feet 
of lumber. The total cost of the plant, with the land 
when paid for, would be about a million and a quarter 
dollars. 

The panic continued to grow more acute right 
along, when at last I began to fear the worst, so far 
as my brother was concerned. I had a sort of a pre- 
monition that something was going to happen, one 
particular morning, so I boarded the train for Chi- 
cago, and in the car with me was an elderly gentle- 
man, one of Milwaukee's prominent bankers, and with 
him were his wife and another ladv- Thev were in- 



Mis Life 117 

clined to be sociable and chatty, but their conversa- 
tion was all lost on me, for there was nothing but 
wheat and lard running through my head at the time. 
They must have thought I was a very stupid fellow, 
for I imagine now that I did not answer half of their 
questions, and if I had, I might have said something 
about lard or wheat. 

Finally, when reaching Chicago, and to me the 
trip was especially long that morning, the newsboys 
were selling extras and shouting, "All about John 
Cudahy's failure." But the word failure was putting 
it too strongly. He, like a great many others, during 
this panic, was obliged to suspend business, for he 
could not finance his deals. He had lard loaded on 
cars, which he had sold for export, but could not get 
money on the bills of lading. He settled with his 
creditors for one hundred cents on the dollar, which 
was giving some of them a great deal more than they 
deserved, for they took advantage of his predicament, 
and forced the price of lard down three cents a pound 
below its legitimate value, at which price he was 
obliged to settle. 

He gave them all the cash he possessed and his 
notes for the remainder, payable one year from date, 
without interest, and my brother Michael and I en- 
dorsed those notes. I had an understanding with my 
brother Michael, however, that in case we were called 
upon to pay the notes, I would not be held for more 
than one third. Even that amount would have crippled 
me pretty badly if I were obliged to pay it at that 
time, and I tell you I felt greatly relieved when about a 
year from that time I was released by my brother John 
being able to pay the notes himself. 



118 Patrick Cl'daiiy 



After his suspension, he, of course, was o1)lij];"ed to 
go very slowly, as he had no money and no credit, hut 
he succeeded in getting in, little hy little, and finally 
saw a good opportunity, made a great coup, and 
cleared enough to pay for all his notes. 

To get back to the day of his suspension. 

I went from the train directly to his office. He 
was not there, but my brother Michael was and he 
was in a terrible state of excitement, walking the floor, 
fuming and fretting. As soon as I met him, he ex- 
plained to me that a wealthy packer in Chicago had 
offered to loan my brother John a quarter of a million 
dollars, provided he, Alichael, would endorse the 
paper. He stated that he had refused to do so, for the 
reason that he thought the wealthy packer had a 
selfish motive in making the offer; that it would 
simply prolong the trouble and make the loss greater 
in the end, by which the wealthy packer would benefit. 

He feared that his friends would not understand 
the situation and that they would think it was mean- 
ness on his part in not standing by his brother. 

"Well," said I. "I need a hundred thousand dollars 
about as badly as any man living, at the present time 
and you will run no risk in endorsing my paper and 
your friend cannot very well refuse to let me have it, 
since he has offered to loan two hundred and fifty 
thousand to John, with your endorsement." 

He agreed with me on the spot and we went over 
to our friend's office. My brother Michael stroked 
the old fellow down the back, thanked him very much 
for his kindness, and explained that he did not accept 
the offer because he thought it was simply prolonging 



His Life 119 

the trouble, but said, "Here is my brother Patrick, 
who is anxious to borrow one hundred thousand dol- 
lars and I will endorse his paper if you will kindly 
loan it to him." 

As there was no other way out of it, the wealthy 
packer consented to let me have the money, which he 
did right there, and I came home to Milwaukee feel- 
ing like a Rockefeller. 

The old house of Plankinton & Armour, which we 
succeeded, had established a system, a sort of a sav- 
ings bank, whereby a great many small accumulators 
deposited their savings with them. This we inherited, 
and at the time of my brother's trouble, we were 
owing a number of people, who had accumulated 
small amounts ranging from five hundred dollars to 
six thousand dollars, which they had deposited with 
us, a total of about eighty thousand dollars. To pay 
this with, before I succeeded in getting the one hun- 
dred thousand dollars in Chicago, I only had in the 
bank, forty thousand dollars, so you can imagine my 
feelings the evening before I went to Chicago, 
especially as I felt almost certain that my brother was 
going to meet the fate he did. 

I felt that every one of those people would be 
standing at the door, demanding their money, as soon 
as they heard of my brother's trouble. I felt as I pre- 
sume a banker feels, when he is anticipating a run on 
his bank, and it w^as for the purpose of putting myself 
in a position to be able to pay those people, that I 
borrowed the one hundred thousand dollars. 

But to my surprise there were only a few of them 
that were in any way panicky. I claim a little credit, 



120 Patrick Ci'Dahv 



however, for wardinc: off the panic, whicli mi.e;'lit have 
occurred among them, by anticipating- some of the 
bills that were due, or about to be due, for work on 
our plant, by sending out checks before they called 
for them. This, of course, got talked around, and the 
gossip had it that so far as Patrick Cudahy was con- 
cerned, he had plenty of money. 

There was one man, who had charge of the curing 
of our meats in our cellars, who became badly scared. 
I met him the morning after my return from Chicago, 
and he looked so badly frightened that I said, "Tom, 
would you like to draw out your money?" He re- 
plied, "Well, I did not sleep any last night." "Well, 
well," I said, "It won't do to have you losing your 
sleep, Tom. You had better go into the office and get 
your check." 

This he did, and took his check for a little over six 
thousand dollars, to the bank, had it cashed, kept the 
money two nights in his house and each day following 
looked more frightened than the day before. Finally 
he came to me and said, "Cudahy, do you want that 
money again?" "I do, Tom," I answered, "I never 
wanted six thousand dollars so much in my life, and 
will be very thankful for it if you can give it to me 
and feel confident that you are going to get it back 
again, and drop that frightened face. But if you are 
going to look so scared and frightened every time I 
meet you, I do not want you to give it to me." "You 
can have the money," he said. 

I did not blame the poor fellow, for he had been 
an accumulator and had accumulated a total of about 
fifty thousand dollars, the most of which he had in the 



His Life 121 

Marine Bank, which also went down with the panic, 
and about which we will have something to say later 
on. 

Another man, of the same character, an accumu- 
lator, who loved money, called at the office about the 
same time, and when I saw him I felt certain that he 
was coming to draw out his money, but instead of 
that he deposited an additional fifteen hundred dol- 
lars with us. After he called, our cashier came to me 
with a smile on his face and told me about our friend 
depositing the fifteen hundred dollars. I was so sur- 
prised that I went out and shook his hand and said, 
"What, you depositing money with us today? I 
thought you would be drawing out what you have 
here." "No, sir," he replied, "I am not the least bit 
frightened. I have absolute confidence in you." This 
made me feel better than anything that had happened 
with me for years. 

The price of hogs tumbled down from six cents to 
four with the panic and everybody that was doing 
business was so frightened, in fact paralyzed, that 
they would not buy them and so there was a margin 
of profit of almost two dollars a hog. 

One old time packer in Chicago was so cautious 
that he would not sell any short ribs, pork or lard to 
the consuming trade, preferring to sell it on the Chi- 
cago Board where he could call margins. The cash 
price for short ribs in the south was one cent a pound 
above what they were selling for on the Chicago 
Board, yet the south was in good shape. They had 
some little financial trouble about six months prior to 
the general trouble and were pretty well recovered. 



122 Patrick Ci'dahy 



So I went riq-ht on, bout^^lit the liot^s and ran our 
house TO its full capacity, for I had my friend's one 
hundred thousand dollars to work with and I think I 
turned that one hundred thousand dollars over about 
three times in the sixty days that I had it. and made, 
I thing almost fifty thousand dollars with it. 

After my brother John got matters straightened 
out in Chicago, he and my brother Michael went 
down to Atlantic City to recuperate for a couple of 
weeks. The day that they returned to Chicago I had 
bought two thousand hogs in the Chicago Stock 
Yards. My oldest brother was surprised, called me 
up on the telephone, and wanted to know what I 
meant by splashing around in that wav. I said, 
"There is good margin in killing hogs and I am trying 
to make a little money. The Lord knows I need it 
badly enough just now." 

At this time I had not fully decided as to whether 
I would complete and open the new plant or not. As 
I have already stated, William Plankinton, when he 
found that I was about to leave, was willing to allow 
me the use of the old plant at a rental of seven per 
cent of our net profits, which was less than half of 
what we had been paying under the five-year contract 
made with his father. 

To remain there was easy sailing. I had the old 
house all equipped and everything established and 
right, and I could continue so for another five years, 
or any part of five years, if I chose to. I could also 
save something by stopping the new buildings right 
there and also by declining to pay for any more of the 
land. 



His Life 123 

On the other hand, 1 had started out with a view 
of having a first class plant and also with a view of 
building a town or a city, which the Chicago & North- 
western Railroad people, complimentary to me, had 
named Cudahy. I had platted a lot of land into city 
lots, made sidewalks, etc., and sold quite a number of 
lots on the strength of the business that we were go- 
ing to establish there. I felt morally bound to return 
the money to those people who purchased lots, in case 
they demanded it, and in case I did not carry out my 
plans, which in all amounted to about fifty thousand 
dollars. I would also be obliged to make a great 
sacrifice in the money that we had put into the build- 
ings and that we had paid out on the land. 

So again it was a case of ''Shall I go?" or "Shall I 
stay?" 

I walked the floor at night, felt my hair curling at 
times and said over and over, "Shall I, or shall I not," 
a great many times. But finally decided to go, which 
we did on November first, 1893. 

To begin with, T did not feel that I could afTord to 
put in and establish a water works at the lake. 
Thought I would try to get along with an artesian 
well. I had one dug fifteen hundred feet deep, at a 
cost of over three thousand dollars, but after doing 
so, found the water was such that we could not use it 
in our boilers or steam pipes and I was afterward 
obliged to go to the lake and build a pumping station, 
at a cost of about forty thousand dollars. And all this 
with a very weak bank account. As the saying goes, 
"There was the rub," the bank account. 

My brother John's pile was gone and with it his 



124 Patrick Cun.MiY 



credit. My own pile was practically all siiiik in the 
new buildings and land. I could make a pretty fair 
showing- to the banks, but not a strong one. Our old 
bank, with which we had been doing business for 
years, and from which we at one time had three 
quarters of a million dollars borrowed, went down in 
tiie panic. 

About the time this bank began to feel the press- 
ure, one of its principal officers visited Chicago and 
took advice with a wealthy packer there, as to the 
advisability of our new venture, etc. The wealthy 
packer, being a competitor of ours, it was great pleas- 
ure for him to be able to have an interview with our 
banker and you may rest assured that the banker, 
when he returned to Milwaukee, did not feel any more 
safe or confident, so far as we were concerned, than 
he did before the interview. 

On his return, he immediately 'phoned me to call 
and see him, which I did. He opened the conversa- 
tion by telling me that he had been to Chicago and 
talked with a certain gentleman there. This certain 
gentleman had informed him that my brother was 
more or less of a speculator, and that our new venture 
was considerable of a land speculation, and that where 
I was locating our new packing house, was a little 
out of the regular order of things, and that it would 
be hard for me to draw the live stock to our market 
and so forth and so on. 

The banker said he would like a statement from 
me as to our condition. I told him that I knew per- 
fectly well, without him telling me, who the gentle- 
man was from whom he had gotten his information ; 



His Life 125 

that I did not blame him in the least to feel a little bit 
concerned and that I was willing to show him our 
books, just how we stood, as to property we had on 
hand, the money we owed, how much insurance we 
carried, etc., and that when I had done so, if he was 
still uneasy, I would pay him back as much of his 
money as I could conveniently pay, and if he was well 
satisfied, I might borrow a little more. 

The result of it all was, after I had gotten through, 
the banker gave me another fifty thousand dollars. 

But a little later on this same bank began to feel 
the pressure of the panic itself and began to call in its 
loans all around. It was a state bank. State banks 
are obliged to make a statement to the state bank ex- 
aminer on the first of each July. The president of the 
bank, after we had paid up more than half of the 
money we owed them, called me one day and said he 
would like to have me pay one hundred thousand dol- 
lars that was due about the first, as he was anxious to 
make a good statement to the bank examiner. He 
said I could have the money again immediately after 
the first, if I needed it. I paid him the one hundred 
thousand and felt so sanguine about getting it again, 
that, a few days later, I sent the paper down with one 
of our young men, but to my surprise, the old gentle- 
man was unable to make me the loan. 

This was some time before my brother's collapse, 
but it VJ3.S pretty well known among bankers that he 
was in pretty deep and it struck me that the old bank 
president was taking fright, wdiich was the cause of 
his refusing me the one hundred thousand dollars. I 
called at the bank and asked him what was the matter. 



l^Ti Patrick Cudahy 



He woiilil make no explanation, so I said, "Air. F., I 
believe you have lost confidence in nie and that you 
are afraid to loan me money and if I were certain 
about it, I would close up my account and leave you 
immediately. I would not feel like entering- the door 
of your bank if I thoug^ht that you had lost confidence 
in me." 

The old gentleman looked miserable, wrinkled up 
his face, and said, "Cudahy, please do not talk to me 
that way. I cannot explain." 

It struck mc then that it was all u]) with the bank 
and sure enough, in a short time the old bank, which 
was considered as strong as the Bank of England, 
was obliged to close its doors. But we had our loan 
all paid up l)y this time, with the exception of fifty 
thousand dollars, which they had rediscounted in 
Chicago. 

This bank closed a few days after my brother's 
trouble, and I was obliged to hustle around and locate 
with some other bank. I first called on a bank that I 
considered very strong. The cashier was an old Ger- 
man and at the time I called at the bank, he was 
closeted with one of his principal stockholders, hold- 
ing a sort of a secret session. When I made known 
my business I got a regular ice water bath. He said, 
"No, no, Cudahy. I couldn't take care of you now." 

I next visited another bank which I also considered 
conservative and strong, meeting with about the same 
result. The fact of the matter was. they were all 
scared of me. I was about like a fellow who was after 
coming out of a sick bed. after having the smallpox — 
nobody cared to invite mc in. 



His Life 127 

Finally I called on big hearted Captain Pabst, who 
was president of the Wisconsin National Bank, and 
told him that my bank had gone down and that I was 
looking for a new bank. He gave me a warm hand- 
shake and said, "Come over here, Cudahy, we'll take 
care of you." I said, "Well, hold on. Captain, wait 
until I tell you how bad a man I am. There are times 
when we require a bank nearly all to ourselves." He 
asked, "About how much money would you need at 
any one time?" "About half a million dollars," I an- 
swered. "Come along-,'" he said, "that does not scare 
me." 

The handshake and the promise was certainly a 
great tonic for me that morning. I opened an account 
there and borrowed twenty-five thousand dollars. But 
twenty-five thousand dollars does not last very long 
in the packing business, and in the course of a couple 
of weeks I asked the vice-president for another 
twenty-five thousand. He gave me his banker's smile 
and said he did not know as to whether he could let 
me have it or not; did not think he could at the time. 
Then I related my conversation with the captain and 
said I did not know whether he was talking in the 
capacity of a banker or a brewer that day. The vice- 
president replied that he thought the captain must 
have been talking in the capacity of a brewer. 

I also opened an account with another bank, of 
which Mr. Rudolph Nunnemacher was president. I 
borrowed twenty-five thousand dollars there, but later 
on this bank was merged with the First National 
Bank, and as my twenty-five thousand would soon be 
due, I called up the president of the First National 



128 Patrick Cudaiiv 



and explained matters, askincr if 1 could count on a 
renewal of the twenty-five thousand dollars. He 
hesitated quite a bit and finally said he thought I 
could, but if I wanted any more it would be necessary 
to have my oldest brother endorse my paper. I told 
him my oldest brother would endorse all the paper I 
would ask him to endorse, I thouc^ht up to a million 
dollars, but I was not goinp^ to ask him to endorse 
any. He had troubles enough of his own and I would 
get along in a small way and do what I could with my 
own money and my own credit. 

After my interview with the president, I called on 
Mr. Nunnemacher, who was the president of the bank 
that had merged with the First National Bank, and 
he proved a friend in need and a friend indeed. 

I told him my hard luck story, how the banks in 
Milwaukee were all frightened, owing to my brother's 
trouble, and that I was unable to borrow more than 
fifty thousand dollars in Milwaukee. He said he was 
about to make a trip to Europe and he would stop off 
at Boston and see what he could do for me there. 
True to his word, he called on one large firm of money 
brokers in Boston and recommended me in the highest 
kind of terms; stated that if they had any doubts 
about my paper, he would endorse it himself. The 
result of this was, that I got in all about four hundred 
thousand dollars in Boston. 

This put me squarely on my feet once more and I 
went on doing business in the old fashioned way. 
When the bankers in Milwaukee saw that I was run- 
ning my house full blast, getting along entirely in- 
dependent of them, they soon fell into line and I did 



His Life 129 

not get the ice quite so badly when I called at their 
banks. But I tell you, it took a lot of nursing to build 
up a credit and establish confidence. Everywhere I 
went I was asked how much stock my brother John 
had with me. However, I was able to assure them 
that I had sixty per cent of it and was handling my 
business in a very conservative way. 

Our first year's business at Cudaliy was a failure. 
We made about twelve or thirteen thousand dollars 
on a business of about six million dollars. It was so 
near being nothing that T charged it up to profit and 
loss. In making my statement to the banks at the end 
of the year I did not try to put any better face on 
things than what actually existed. I told them the 
plain truth. They were surprised, yet they were 
satisfied that I was honest. 

The next year was not very much better. We did 
a lot of business and a lot of work, and made but very 
little money. But yet, those were the years im- 
mediately following the panic, or rather the years of 
the panic, and there were a great many in the same 
boat we were in. In fact, anybody who could keep 
afloat and not lose money during those years, was 
considered doing well. I was living at Elm Grove in 
summer during this time and almost every evening 
went home to my family, I had some sensation in the 
way of a large failure, about which to tell. 

The third year, however, or the year beginning 
with November, 1896, and ending November, 1897, 
was a fairly good year and have since that made 
money, and some years good money, and I have every 
reason to feel thankful that I decided as I did and 



1,30 Patrick Cudahy 



went through with the new undcrtakini^, instead of 
remaining with WilHam Planlcinton at the old plant. 

Our credit now is at the head of the list. Instead 
of throwing- my hat into a bank before I enter myself 
and sneaking around with a half frightened face be- 
fore I talk to the banker, I have them running after 
me. Scarcely a day passes that our mail does not con- 
tain correspondence from money l)rokers, offering to 
take our paper one-half of one per cent less than the 
paper of some of the largest firms is selling at. 

I believe today if I should want to, I could borrow 
three million dollars without any collateral except my 
own signature. I went through a good deal during 
the last fifteen years, but when I consider what I have 
accomplished, I feel pretty well repaid. 

After we left the old plant it remained idle for a 
year or so. Then William Plankinton went to Chi- 
cago and got a couple of what were considered ex- 
perienced men. He made up a company with a capital 
stock of two hundred thousand dollars and began 
business. He continued in business long enough to 
lose what money he put in himself as well as his 
friends' money and about three hundred thousand 
dollars of borrowed money on top of it. And during 
the time he was losing this half a million, we made 
about twice that amount. 

Yet he was the son of one of the most successful 
packers of his day, in fact the parent of the packing 
industry, and to my knowledge William's father did 
everything in his power to make a business man out 
of him. He gave him all the practical experience he 
could, pushed him along in eveiy way possible, but it 



His Life 131 

did not seem to be in him. In fact, although he was 
John Plankinton's son he was no more hke John 
Plankinton than chalk is like cheese. 

Up to the time that we had moved to Cudahy we 
had been a firm of equal partners in the business, but 
my brother John always had a place for his profits 
and drew them out at the close of the business year, 
while I had no other use for mJne, except to allow 
them to stand to my credit, and draw the current rate 
of interest. 

When we began, in 1888, my brother John had 
four hundred thousand dollars in the business, while 
I had but two hundred thousand dollars in the busi- 
ness. I accumulated during the five years, an addi- 
tional four hundred thousand dollars, and when we 
moved to Cudahy, I changed the concern from a 
partnership to a corporation, under the name of 
Cudahy Brothers Company, with a capital stock of 
two million dollars, with one million paid in, of which 
I owned six hundred thousand and my brother four 
hundred thousand, and of which I was president and 
general manager, and drew a salary for managing 
and conducting the business. 

I had the by-laws drawn in such a way that it was 
optional with the stockholders to accept cash or stock 
dividends. I took advantage of this in my own case, 
and accepted stock dividends, while my brother, al- 
ways anxious for his money, drew it out. He had the 
same privilege that I had, to accept stock in lieu of 
cash, but did not do so. 

The result is that at the present time we have a 
million and a half paid in, of which I own a million. 



i:^2 Patrick Cudaiiy 

The biiildinf( of tliis plant, as well as the l)uilding 
of the town, was quite an undertaking. At first it ap- 
peared to me as a very pleasant dream. Having a 
town named after me certainly tickled my vanity, but 
I tell you that 1 paid dearly for all the pleasure there 
was in it. I will tell you along later, of a good many 
of my troubles. 

Among them I had a dream of locating a large 
public stock yard at Cudahy and bringing all the Mil- 
waukee packing industry down here, making one 
great packing center. Then the building of a street 
car line out here, was another one of them, as well as 
numerous other troubles, all of which I will tell you 
in more or less detail. 

But all's well that ends well, for we now have a 
flourishing business and a good sized, growing city. 

When we reached a million and a half I felt that 
the concern was about large enough, and as I had six 
daughters I felt it my duty to provide something in 
the way of a permanent income for my daughters, so 
I organized another company naming it The Patrick 
Cudahy Family Company, with a capital of a million 
and a quarter, making all the members of the family 
directors in the company. I now have one million 
dollars of that capital paid in, leaving but a quarter 
of a million of treasury stock. 

I have invested the money in city real estate and 
hope to make it a six per cent net stock. I feel that 
this is the safest way to provide a permanent income 
for my daughters. 

Now to go back to those perilous days around 
November first, 1893. when I had so many troubles 




"■^•(e^l 



c 



4- 



^^X^' 




His Life 133 

of my own. To add to them, three of my principal 
men got hobnobbing with a business man in the city, 
who had been in the vinegar business and was burned 
out in the great third ward fire. He received eighty 
thousand dollars insurance money and was casting 
about with a view of getting into some other business. 
Of the three men I mention, one was a man who was 
very close to me in a business way, doing the selling 
of English meats in Liverpool, by cable message, also 
looking after our insurance and having an eye to 
things in a general way. The other was the superin- 
tendent of our house, a very good man, of lifetime ex- 
perience, and the third was a man who had charge of 
our dressed beef business. He also was a man of a 
lifetime experience in the meat business. 

All three joined this vinegar gentleman and or- 
ganized a little packing company of their own, with a 
capital stock of something over two hundred thou- 
sand dollars. This was quite a blow to me. Of 
course, I had to hustle around and fill their places 
with other men, which I succeeded in doing. 

It was rather amusing to hear the gossip about the 
streets at this particular time. I met a business man 
in the city, one day and the subject of the three men 
leaving me, was broached, and he said, "Well, I've 
told these fellows that were talking about it, that 
Cudahy Brothers Company would run, even if the 
three did leave you, and even if your brother from 
Chicago was obliged to come up and assist you." 
Such was the importance attached to the three men 
that left me. Yet our commercial ship sailed on, with 
the old man at the wheel. 



134 Patrick Cudahv 



It is now about fifteen years since this occurred 
and it was only the other day that the vinegar man, 
the principal stockholder of that company, called at 
my house and went on his knees, so to speak, begging 
me to put some money in with them in order to keep 
them afloat. As I understand matters, they have lost 
everything that they put in and it is only a question 
of a short time when they will put up the shutters. I 
do not wish them any ill luck and have no ill feeling 
against them at all, yet there is a little speck of satis- 
faction in being triumphant. 

During the winter of 1897 our men took it into 
their heads to organize themselves into a union. As 
a large number of them were not of a high standard 
in intelligence, mostly foreigners who had bought lots 
and built small cottages, or had us build for them, and 
as we had practically no police or fire protection, I 
feared that in case they were united they would mis- 
take their power and become arbitrary and strike 
without cause. And in case of a strike or a lockout, 
there might be cause for discharging some of them, 
and if discharged they would have their little proper- 
ties on their hands, with no one to sell it to. I feared 
that in their excitement, which always follows a 
strike, they might commit acts of violence, such as 
burning property, or the like. For those reasons I op- 
posed the men and in a loud tone told them I would 
not stand for a union in our plant, setting forth my 
reason. I stated that I would discharge any man that 
joined it. But they paid no attention to me. They 
went on. They gave a ball, or dance, and I had one 
of my friends attend the dance and report to me the 
fellows who wore the rosettes. 



His Life 135 

Things ran on until our dull season, about April 
first, a time of year when we are always obliged to 
cut down and lay men off. So this time, it was the 
rosette fellows who had to go. I was waited upon by 
a committee of three, union men, from the city of 
Milwaukee, one a cigar maker, another a plumber and 
the other a printer. I was told that unless I took 
those men back and laid off non-union men instead, 
our name would be placed on the unfair list, or in 
other words our meats would be boycotted. 

It is needless to say this I positively refused to do, 
and they were as good as their word, we were boy- 
cotted by all the union men of the city. I anticipated 
it, and told all our salesmen to prepare for it, be extra 
nice to the w-omen, give a piece of sausage to the little 
ones, etc., etc. 

Then I went off to Europe and let them fight it 
out. The result was, if they had not informed us we 
would never have known that we were being boy- 
cotted. 

At the end of the year, that is, after the boycott 
had been in force a year, the president of the 
Butchers' Union, came up from Chicago, sent in his 
card, with a request to see me. I was too busy, and 
he went off. They abandoned the boycott and that 
was the last of it, and our plant has been an open shop 
ever since. 

If I had been located in the city, where we would 
have police and fire protection, and where conditions 
generally were different, I would not have opposed 
the organization, but as it was, I could not afford to 
do differently. 



136 Patrick Cudahy 



One thing I did during the panic of 1893, of which 
I always felt sort of proud. This was the purchase of 
fifty refrigerator cars. We were as hard up for 
money, or more so, than anyone at the time, but an 
agent for the Missouri Car Company called on me one 
day and made me such a low price that I could not 
resist. I bought fifty cars from him for about four 
hundred and fifty dollars each and had the privilege 
of paying for them one-quarter down, balance in 
monthly payments. As we needed the cars in our 
business and were paid three-quarters of a cent a mile 
mileage from the roads they ran over, they more than 
earned enough to pay for themselves as the time went 
on. 

We have two hundred sixty-six of those cars now 
and they are about as good an investment as we have. 

My reason for mentioning the purchase of the fifty 
cars in '93 is because it took courage and confidence 
to spend money during that period. Men who had 
been through previous panics similar to '93, men who 
were wealthy, were so scared that they would not 
part with money, even when it was clear sailing for 
them. 

I cannot get away from this particular period of 
sensational events. 

Am now going to tell you about another great 
scheme I had, but in which I did not triumph. Dur- 
ing the time that I was in the Menominee Valley, in 
the old packing center, there was a continual howl of 
complaint from the people living on the west side in 
Milwaukee, about the odor from the rendering tanks, 
etc., so much so, that every little while we were 



His Life 137 

obliged to make promises and satisfy people in some 
way, in order to continue there. So when I conceived 
the idea of changing our location, I also conceived an 
idea that it would not be much trouble to bring about 
the moving of all the packing industry to our new 
location, owing to the fact that there had been so 
many complaints. 

I was quite intimate with the mayor of the city at 
that time, and mentioned the matter to him one day. 
He said, "I think you are dead right, Cudahy. What 
do you think of drawing up a resolution, compelling 
the packing business to close up in the city, then they 
will naturally locate with you." I said, "That would 
be first class, providing it can be pulled off." I, of 
course, promised him that I would sell the other 
packers land at what it cost me, or even less. In other 
words, that I would not take any unfair advantage of 
anyone. 

Had a scheme that we could build a large stock 
yards, get a spur from the St. Paul Road over to our 
place and move the whole industry from where it was 
located, in the heart of the city, to our new location. 
The mayor himself, being a lawyer, drew up the 
resolution and gave it to one of his pet aldermen to 
introduce. It was introduced, but very poorly 
handled. It was referred to the chairman, I think, on 
"Meat Markets," etc. He, being a foxy politician, and 
not in favor of its passage, managed to sidetrack the 
resolution, or keep it from coming up whenever there 
was a meeting of the council, for quite a long time. 

Of course it was opposed by the other packers, 
who had their plants and were satisfied to remain 



138 Patrick Cudahy 

where they were. There was also strong opposition 
to it from the St. Paul Railroad Company, who had a 
"cinch," as we say, on the live stock business of the 
city, owning and controlling the yards. And the resi- 
dents of the west side, instead of aiding and helping 
to remove what they always complained of, as being a 
nuisance, fell in with the other packers and fought the 
ordinance. 

But after it was once introduced, I was just stub- 
born enough to try to push it through myself. I did 
not do any bribing, or spend any great amount of 
money, except buying beer and the like, yet I worked 
awfully hard, going among the miserable aldermen, 
preaching to them about the great advantages of it 
and trying to win them over to my side, as best I 
knew how. 

On one occasion, while looking for the alderman 
who had charge of the ordinance, I dropped into a 
saloon on East Water Street, where I understood I 
would find him. I inquired for him there and the 
barkeeper told me he had just left. A gentleman, 
who was sitting in the room, spoke up, saying that the 
man I was looking for could be found at such and 
such a place. Meantime the barkeeper introduced me 
to this man, Alderman Sobienski, of the Fourteenth 
Ward. Of course I thought, " Here's a dead sure 
vote for me." 

I began to warm up to my new acquaintance, in- 
troduced myself once more, and explained the pur- 
pose of the ordinance that I wished to see passed. 
He spoke up, "O, I know you. I work for you up in 
Plankinton's. I was trucking hogs. You thought I 



His Life 139 

was not going fast enough, you come up and take me 
by the collar and say, 'Get out of here, you damn lazy 
Pollock.' " 

He had moved over onto the south end of the city, 
opened a saloon, and prospered like the rest of them, and 
was now an "Honorable." 

His speech paralyzed me for a moment, but when 
I recovered my equilibrium, I bought a beer for my 
friend and smoothed matters over the best way I knew 
how. 

The ordinance was finally forced to an issue. There 
were speeches made on both sides before the vote 
was taken, but when it was taken, I think I only had 
one or two out of the whole council, yet pretty much 
every one of them had promised to vote for it. 

This was my first lesson in politics, and although 
it was expensive in the way of wear and tear, yet I 
think it was worth all it cost. 

Another thing that occurred along about this time, 
was my struggle to get the street railway extended 
south from the city to Cudahy. Quite a number of 
people had bought lots, built houses, and settled there 
and the only accomodation for traveling back and 
forth to the city was the steam railroad, charging for 
a single fare twenty-five cents. So I felt that in order 
to relieve the people, build up the town and make it 
popular, we must have an electric road from Milwau- 
kee to Cudahy. I got to work lobbying for the road. 
Made several visits to Mr. Payne, the president of the 
Street Railway Company, urging him to build down 
our way. I drew a very rosy picture of the patronage 
he would have, and although I felt myself that it was 



140 Patrick Cudahy 

a little stretched, at the time, it afterward proved 
true. But I g^ot very little encouragement. In fact 
there were times when he gave me to understand that 
he did not want me annoying him ; that he did not 
have time to waste with me, etc. 

I had practically given up the matter as hopeless, 
when I happened to mention it to the same gentle- 
man, whom I have mentioned before as our mayor, 
and who had also served as our representative in 
Washington, and he said to me, "I know a party in 
Chicago, who was in Congress with me, who is in- 
terested in street railways in Chicago. I will see if I 
can get him up here and possibly he will be in- 
terested." I thanked him very much and said I hoped 
he would be successful in getting him up from 
Chicago. 

My congressman friend was successful in getting 
the man from Chicago to come up. They came to our 
office, I hitched up a team and took them over the 
ground where I hoped to have the road. As soon as 
they left I called up a reporter on one of our daily 
papers, and tipped it off to him that Mr. So-and-so, 
from Chicago was here, looking over the ground with 
a view of building an interurban line from Cudahy to 
the city. This was published as quite a bit of stirring 
news, as it was really the first proposed line to run 
outside of the city at that time. It had the effect of 
bringing the city company to time, for after my friend 
Mr, Payne, had read this bit of news next day, there 
was no further trouble in getting him to agree to ex- 
tend his line to Cudahy. 

The trouble then was to get rid of my Chicago 



His Life 141 

man. He had gathered a bunch of fellows around 
him. They began to smell money, if not by building 
a road, by holding the other company up, so I had 
another fight on my hands to keep the Chicago man 
and his crowd from interfering with the town board 
and preventing me from getting a franchise for the 
city company. We had several meetings in the town 
hall and a number of speeches on both sides; even I 
attempted to give the board a talk. I remember one 
amusing speech, by the chairman of the board, who a 
German. After he had heard what others had to say 
he stood up and said, "Now, gentlemans, this was all 
disgusted very thoroughly last night at a meeting at 
St. Franzis and I see no reason why we should not 
grant the franchise." This settled it, and we got our 
road, a great blessing for the people. 

I paid two hundred dollars of my own good money 
to an attorney to draw the franchise and help me do 
the lobbying and afterward, when I saw the road was 
such good property, wrote a letter to the man who 
succeeded Mr. Payne, stating that the franchise had 
cost me two hundred dollars, as well as a lot of hard 
work and if they had a conscience fund in connection 
with their corporation, they might return me the two 
hundred dollars, but I never got a cent, not even a 
free ride. 

I have still another matter of interest to relate, 
which, too, was quite a source of annoyance along 
during those annoying times. When we first started 
the town site of Cudahy, there was nothing but clover 
fields and farm land. After we started in platting, 
making streets, etc., a party, we will call Mack, came 



142 Patrick Cudahy 

to me and stated that he thought that it would be well 
to have a post office in Cudahy, and said if I would 
endorse his application, he thought he could get the 
appointment and it would be something of a con- 
venience as well as giving tone to the place. This I 
did for him and he got the position as postmaster. 

At first it was merely a post office in name, but 
when we completed our plant and got to doing busi- 
ness, our own business made it quite a paying post 
office, so much so that it was classed as a presidential 
post office. I think the income from it was about 
fifteen hundred dollars per year. 

This Mack had held the post office for about eight 
years. The senator, representing this district in 
Washington at that time, wired me one day that there 
was to be a postmaster appointed to this post office, 
asking if I had any choice. I had a friend, who was 
very much in need of a position of that kind just then, 
so I wired his name to our senator and my friend re- 
ceived the appointment. This was all done without 
saying anything to Mr. Mack and when he read of it 
in the newspaper, he got into a terrible rage and came 
to me and wanted to know what it meant. I said, 
"It means just what it reads; that the other man has 
been appointed." 

He took on at a great rate. Succeeded in getting 
pretty much everybody in the village on his side and 
they waited on me at different times and pleaded to 
have him reinstated. It became quite annoying and 
it also made me somewhat nervous. I thought pos- 
sibly I had made a mistake. We had so much prop- 
erty at Cudahy that I could not afford to have the 



His Life 143 

people living there opposed to me in any way, so as 
the party whom I had recommended and who had 
been appointed, did not seem to care particularly 
about the position, I wired the senator to cancel the 
appointment and reappoint Mr. Mack, which was 
done. But instead of the fellow appreciating what 
was done for him, he went about boasting and telling 
people that he had scared me into it. This provoked 
me to such an extent that I said to myself, "Mr, Mack, 
wdien your present term expires, you will go out, if it 
is in my power to put you out, even though there is 
no one but a negro to take your place." 

So as the time drew near, I began pulling the 
strings for the appointment of another man. My 
friend Mack showed fight, but in a miserable coward- 
ly way. He wrote me several threatening letters, but 
always in such a guarded manner that I could not 
prosecute him. One of them read that he was so 
aggravated at the prospects of losing his ofifice, that 
he could see flames of hell at night. Another was, 
unless he got the position somebody's dead body 
would be taken out of the town on a stretcher, and so 
on. He tried to make it appear that he had lost his 
reason and continued to intimate that something 
desperate was likely to happen, that either he or I 
would go out of Cudahy in a box. This he continued 
for months. Went so far as to go to a clergyman, 
with whom I was acquainted, and the clergyman 
wrote me a letter of advice, that I had better be care- 
ful, as this person was approaching insanity. 

I confided the situation to one of my friends and 
he also advised me to be careful, as the fellow was an 



144 Patrick Cudahy 

ugly looking man and that something serious might 
happen. I was advised by my friends to carry a re- 
volver and went so far as to go to a store, look them 
over and price them ; but on considering the matter I 
felt that it would be better to get a broken head myself 
than to carry a revolver. I have always been of a very 
excitable temperament and I felt that I could not trust 
myself to carry a revolver, fearing that on some im- 
pulse I might kill the fellow. I would recover from 
the broken head, unless it was a bad one, but I would 
never recover from the thought that I had killed a 
man during my natural life. 

All this annoyed me very much. Nevertheless, I 
was placed in such a predicament that I had to fight 
the fellow, even if I was sure it was death in doing 
so. I went on in my determination and had him put 
out and another man appointed. I was obliged to do 
it, or look upon myself as a coward the rest of my 
life, which would not do. 

The rascal was feining insanity all the time, which 
was shown in the finish. He had half a dozen town 
lots bought from us and had paid one payment on 
each lot. I proposed to do with him as I had done 
with a great many others, take back a portion of the 
lots and give him a deed of the others, but whenever I 
wrote him, or my agent approached him, he received 
nothing but insulting replies. So I instructed my 
agent to proceed and foreclose on the lots and take 
all of them from him. 

When he saw that we meant business with the 
lots, as well as with the post office, he got down on 
his knees and begged for mercy; asked me to do as I 



His Life 145 

had formerly proposed, deed him a couple of the lots 
and take back the others. I sent him word that I 
would do so providing he would write a humble letter 
of apology for all his contemptuous actions. This he 
willingly consented to do. I wrote a letter, about as 
humiliating as I possibly could, with a pencil, sent it 
over to him and compelled him to copy it with his 
pen and sign it, which he did, and which wound up 
this very annoying affair. 

The fellow came afterward to me, begging for a 
little assistance, saying his rent was past due and un- 
less he got some assistance, he would be turned out 
on the street. I made him a present of fifty dollars 
and felt better after doing so. 

Following the line of annoyances, here is another 
one. 

When we buy hogs from shippers they are allowed 
to feed each car two basketfuls of corn and what 
water they can drink, before being weighed up. If 
the hogs are slaughtered within twenty-four hours 
from the time they are fed, which is often the case, a 
large amount of this corn is still in their stomachs, 
undigested. I conceived the idea if I were to have a 
large chicken ranch in connection with the packing 
house, I could feed any number of chickens with this 
cracked corn from the hog stomachs. 

So I went into the chicken business in a wholesale 
way. Instead of experimenting and doing as I should 
have done, I built a large chicken house, put in a lot 
of incubators and brooders, fenced off about five acres 
of land with poultry wire, into pens and yards, and 
went to hatchine: chickens. 



146 Patrick Cudahy 



We were successful in the hatching. In fact we 
hatched out three thousand chickens, but to raise 
them was not so easy. Out of the three thousand we 
raised only about nine hundred. I made a trip almost 
every day to the chicken ranch and when I would find 
fault with the way things were going, the trouble was 
all blamed on the feed. If they only had different 
feed, they would have been a better success. Of 
course, the utilizing of the corn from the hog 
stomachs was my only object in having the chickens, 
and if I must buy different feed, I did not care much 
for the chicken business. 

This chicken farm was a constant annoyance, in 
fact, more so than the packing business was to me, so 
I was obliged to admit it was a failure, so far as a 
financial success was concerned. I sold out what 
chickens we had, tore dowai the fences, built a cattle 
shed with the boards and fenced in other land with 
the wire. 

I was not completely whipped, however. Had a 
hedge in the fact that the lumber which we bought for 
building the chicken house, pens, and yards, was 
bought from a lumberman up north, who was owing 
us quite a lot of money and who failed shortly after 
that. So if we had not taken the lumber, we would 
have been out just that much monev. That, at least, 
was a crumb of comfort in the chicken failure. 

Another enterprise of mine was the organizing of 
a Cudahy Building & Loan Association, which I 
organized for the purpose of enabling the men, who 
wished to build homes in the town of Cudahy, to bor- 
row money. If they had a lot bought and paid for, 



His Life 147 

they could go to the loan association and borrow suffi- 
cient money to build a house on the lot, paying this 
loan off in monthly installments. 

I selected, as secretary of the loan association, a 
young man who had worked with us from boyhood. 
He was a born accumulator, and proved to be the 
right man for the place. The association prospered 
greatly. Men who had money to loan, seemed to have 
absolute confidence in placing it with the association. 

I was made president of it myself and was obliged 
to preside at the meetings, which was a rather trying 
ordeal, as I never was any good to stand on my feet 
and do a little talking. However, we did a thriving 
business. I remained as president for three or four 
years, and the association grew to such an extent that 
it became more interested in city property than 
Cudahy property and I also found that we could deal 
better with our men by having them pay their install- 
ments direct to our own company, for the reason that 
if they were short for a month or two, we could be 
lenient with them. 

Later I resigned my position as president of the 
loan association. The name was changed to the 
Citizens' Building & Loan Association, continuing to 
do business, and is still in existence and prospering. 

I will now give you my experience in the land deal. 

We bought in all in the town site of Cudahy about 
eight hundred acres and platted a little over half of 
this into city lots. I hired a man named Kendall, who 
had the reputation of being considerable of a boomer, 
to handle it for me, and he proved true to his 
reputation. 



148 Patrick Cudahy 



Cudahy was advertised in all the papers, the great 
possibilities of the new packing town set forth. Even 
on the drop curtain of one of the theaters was a large 
display advertisement, advertising Cudahy lots. 

One evening, as I was sitting in one of the 
theaters, enjoying a play, in the midst of the love 
scene the young man makes a dash and kisses the 
young lady. She draws back in indignation and ex- 
claims, "How dare you!" He replies, "I'm a Cudahy 
real estate agent. I dare anything." Don't know 
whether Kendall had anything to do with it or not, 
but so far as I was concerned, it was a complete sur- 
prise, and I enjoyed it very much. 

Among our holdings was a five-acre piece of land 
which had been platted into lots, but no streets had been 
made. A party came up from Chicago, called at our real 
estate office, and made arrangements with Kendall to go 
to Appleton, where he thought he could place the five- 
acre piece. When he was at Appleton, he wrote Kendall 
to write him a good jollying letter, which he could pass 
around among the fellows he was trying to land. Kend- 
all wrote the letter, and the fellow told me afterward 
that he not only jollied his friends, but jollied himself 
to the extent that he became enthusiastic about the five- 
acre strip and felt that it was really worth the money, 
or more, too. 

Kendall was a nervous little man, with his tongue 
hitched in the center so that it flopped at both ends. He 
could get out more words in a given time than any man 
or woman that ever lived. He was an optimistic, enthu- 
siastic fellow. He boomed and lied about the future 
prospects of Cudahy to everybody he met, so much, that 



His Life 149 

after awhile he believed the lies himself. He was so 
enthusiastic that he asked me for the privilege of specu- 
lating in lots on his own account. I granted him the 
privilege, providing it would not interfere with the sale 
of our own property. With that encouragement he in- 
vested his salary and every cent he could get hold of in 
Cudahy lots, and sold some at a profit, but when the col- 
lapse came, poor Kendall had no compensation for his 
time, but Cudahy lots. 

One day a newspaper reporter called at our real 
estate office to get some news about the progress that the 
city of Cudahy was making. I met him, but turned him 
over to Kendall, remarking, "I don't believe I am a good 
enough liar for you. Mr. Kendall will talk to you." 
"Yes," replied the reporter, "There are three liars in 
Milwaukee, I am one, and Kendall is two." 

We had several sub-agents, among them some good 
looking women, who were quite successful in selling 
property. We also had a very handsome young man, a 
full-fledged college graduate, one of those rah, rah chaps, 
very handsome and very nice. He made use of the 
choicest of words. His voice was toned to the right key, 
and all that sort of thing, but he did not make any kind 
of a showing in the way of selling lots. 

One day I called at the office and looked over the sales 
of each agent. The ladies made quite a good showing, 
while my college young man's showing was very poor. 
He was standing near, and I said to him, "Mr. B., I 
think we will have to put petticoats on you." It was a 
mean thing to say and made the poor fellow feel bad, and 
I would have given a little something to have it back 
after blurting it out. 



150 Patrick Cudahy 



We had one small strip of land near where the rail- 
road station was afterward located, which we did not in- 
clude in the original plat, owing to the fact that there was 
a little question about the title which had to be cleared 
with a friendly lawsuit. Afterward we platted this small 
strip, giving it the high sounding name of Lipton Court, 
called after our famous yacht racing sportsman. 

Kendall appointed a certain day as a day to auction 
off the lots in Lipton Court. The auction was held in 
his office and the lots went like hot cakes. I think he told 
me that he sold what would be a total of thirty-six thou- 
sand dollars worth of property at the sale that afternoon. 
One poor fellow who had recently sold his farm bought 
all the lots that he could afford to buy, making the first 
payment down. Of course, the first payment was all we 
ever got and in most cases had to take back three- fourths 
of the lots and give them a deed to one-fourth. 

The first two lots I sold at Cudahy were sold at a 
price of fifteen hundred dollars for the two. I reported 
the sale on the 'phone to my brother John, and he said, 
"You are a robber to take the money." But after we 
got the thing going there w^ere quite a few sold at fifteen 
hundred dollars each at private sale. 

A little later we had an auction. We gave them a 
free ride to Cudahy, as well as free beer and lunch after 
they got there. As most of the "choicest business prop- 
erty," as it was called, had been sold at private sale pre- 
vious to the auction, Kendall suggested putting up some 
of those lots so as to give the sale a "tone." The parties 
who had bought some of those lots agreed to this, with 
the understanding that if they were sold high enough 
they would let them go, otherwise we would bid them in 
and return the lots to them. 



His Life 151 

There was one lot I remember in particular, located 
on a corner near the railroad station, which we had sold 
for fifteen hundred dollars. It was bid up to twenty-two 
hundred and fifty dollars at the auction. I w-as standing 
nearby, listening to the bidding, and I said to myself, 
"What lunatic has bought that?" I afterward learned 
that it was the foreman of our sausage room, who had 
bid it in, and I thought that he must have either had too 
much of the free beer or that he had made a mistake and 
thought he was doing us a service by bidding it up. But 
imagine my surpirse next day when I found that a brew- 
ing company had paid him two hundred and fifty dollars 
profit on the lot, making the price twenty-five hundred 
dollars. This all goes to show the wild speculation that 
there was in suburban property at that time. 

They tell a story about a farmer who had sold his 
farm for the purpose of speculating in lots. He came to 
the city, called on a real estate man and made known his 
intentions. The real estate man invited him out for a 
ride, for the purpose of showing him some very choice 
suburban lots. After riding some distance the farmer 
said, "How much farther do we have to go?'' "Only a 
short distance," answered the agent. "Presume your 
farm must be somewhere out here." "Oh," said the 
farmer, "We passed my farm quite awhile ago." 

Another story that is told about lot speculation runs 
this way. A man bought a lot for a thousand dollars, 
sold it for fifteen hundred, bought it back for two thou- 
sand and sold it again for twenty-five hundred, and 
bought it back for three thousand; although he still held 
the lot, figured he had made two thousand dollars profit. 

H we had had another couple of years of the crazy 
boom, and if there had been money enough left among 



152 Patrick Cudahy 



the people, we would have gotten out of our land deal 
with a handsome profit. But as it was, we only had about 
one year of it before the panic of '9r> hit us squarely, or, 
as the sailor would say, "midship," and the bubble was 
pricked and all the wind knocked out of the boom. And 
after the speculation was gone we had nobody to sell to 
but the man with the dinner pail, who wanted a lot for 
a cottage, and, like everything else speculative, when it 
got down to the actual requirements of the people, it did 
not take very many lots to go around. 

My purchases of land had been going on for some 
little time before it became generally known, but after i% 
had leaked out, I was the envy of a great many, who 
thought I had an immense fortune in my land deal. One 
friend of mine in talking with me one day, said, "Cudahy, 
you don't realize what a good thing you have down 
there. I believe you have a million dollars in that land 
deal of yours." 

He was correct about my not realizing it, and the fact 
still remains, that I never did realize it in the real sense 
of the word, for instead of the land being a profitable 
undertaking it turned out to be very much the other way. 
I would have been very much better off had I bought just 
enough land for the packing house and stock yards, and 
allowed some one else the glory of building the town. 

One amusing incident 1 had when I was buying the 
land at Cudahy I must relate. We had bought a stretch 
of about twenty acres near St. Francis, where the rail- 
road track crosses the highway. This tract contained a 
gravel pit, and it was owing to that fact that I had 
bought it, thinking I would use the gravel from this pit 
to make the streets at Cudahy. 



His Life 153 

Employed at the railroad crossing as flagman was an 
old German, who owned a five-acre piece in Cudahy, 
right opposite to where the railroad station was located. 
One day while driving down from the city to Cudahy, to 
see how things were progressing, I pulled up my horse at 
the crossing for the purpose of asking the old gentleman 
about the gravel in the pit, on the land we had bought 
near where he was employed. But before I had time to 
open my mouth he shook the red flag at me which he 
used for signalling people at the crossing, shouting at the 
same time, "Go on, you damn robber, you can't get my 
land. I know you, go on, go on now," and he looked so 
wicked that I thought I had better follow his command 
and moved on. Afterward, in my day of land poverty, 
I regretted that there were not more such old chaps to 
drive me away when I undertook to purchase their 
property. 

I have another interesting and amusing experience in 
this land deal that I wish to tell. 

The land was generally owned in five and ten-acre 
strips, so we had to deal with a large number of small 
holders in order to get a large quantity of it. I bought 
three strips, two of ten acres and one of five, just west 
of our packing plant, but there was still a five-acre strip 
in between and I was very anxious to get it in order to 
close up and make a straight tract, which I intended for 
a stock yard. This piece was owned by an old German 
saloonkeeper in Bay View, a very suspicious character, 
who, as soon as he was approached for the sale of his 
land, suspected there was something doing, and in some 
way had gotten wind of what was going on and put the 
price clear out of reach. I sent several people to deal 



154 Patrick Cudahy 



with him. Tried all manner of ways, even offered him 
three times what we were paying others, but it was no go. 
So I was obhged to go farther south and buy a larger 
piece than what I intended to buy to get what I thought 
was necessary for the stock yards. After purchasing 
this land T had no use for my German friend's piece, and 
as my stock yards scheme fell through and the general 
collapse of '93 followed, I had land dyspepsia, and when- 
ever the old fellow, or anybody else approached me about 
his strip of land, I drove them away, so to speak. 

This piece of land was springy and boggy, and wher- 
ever a hole two or three feet was dug in it, it filled with 
water. Years and years ago some farmer dug a hole 
in this land for the purpose of watering his cattle. This 
was now right near our plant. We used a strip adjoining 
this piece of land for a dumping ground. Here we 
dumped old salt, vv'hich had been used for curing hides, 
Fullers-earth, which was used for bleaching lard as well 
as the manure from the cattle sheds, all on this piece of 
ground, only a short distance from the water hole. The 
salt dissolved with the rain and the brine soaked into the 
ground and in due course of time reached the water hole. 

The old fellow took some of the water to a chemist, 
had it analyzed and got the best kind of an analysis for 
a perfect mineral spring, saying it contained lithia and 
other ingredients that were beneficial to the health. The 
German had this analysis printed in booklets, advertis- 
ing the famous spring water and succeeded in establish- 
ing quite a trade in it. But some mischievous person 
called the attention of the State Board of Health to the 
pile of refuse near the so-called spring and the water was 
pronounced unfit for use and was condemned. 



His Life 155 

The old man in turn sued our company for fifty-five 
thousand dollars as damages to his business, claimed we 
had contaminated the water, when in reality we had put 
in all the minerals the water contained. It was a long- 
winded fight in court, lasted about twenty-one days. The 
old fellow subpoened all his customers who had been 
using the water, and it was amusing to hear their testi- 
mony. One man claimed he had been troubled with 
rheumatic gout for a great many years, could not get re- 
lief until he drank this water. Another had been bloated 
with gases, or something that way, and he was greatly 
benefited by the water, and so on down the line. The 
old German in testifying in his own behalf, told a story 
as to how he came to purchase the land. Said that some 
few years ago he was walking south on the railroad track 
and while passing this piece of land, happened to see the 
spring, and being thirsty, climbed over the fence, laid 
down flat and drank freely from the water. Went back 
on the track and continued his walk, but only for a short 
distance, when he felt the effects of the water, operating 
inside, and in describing his feeling at that time, rubbed 
his hand over his abdomen. Claimed the effects of it 
were electric. So he never lost sight of the land until 
he purchased it, owing entirely to the "mineral spring." 

Among my witnesses, the most important one was the 
man who dug the hole, as he stated, for watering cattle, 
about forty years prior to the time of the lawsuit. One 
of our boys told me about him. I sent a man to see 
him, but found him sick abed. I had a doctor visit him 
and doctored him up, brought him to court in a carriage, 
where he told his story in a good straightforward way. 
Said that the hole was dug for the purpose of watering 



156 Patrick Cudahy 

cattle and there was never any importance attached to it 
whatever. He was the most effectual witness we had. 

This case was my first and only experience with law- 
suits, and I hope will be my last. The lawyers who had 
the case against me were of the bulldozing type. It was 
not a question of whether the man was entitled to dam- 
ages or not; simply a question of what they could bull- 
doze out of Mr. Cudahy. In order to meet them on 
their own ground, I employed a bulldozing attorney to 
fight them, one who was known for his ability to sway, 
or influence, juries. And lucky for me that I did em- 
ploy this same lawyer. It was optional with both sides, 
as to whether the case would be tried before a judge or 
a jury, and the lawyers on the other side, knowing the 
reputation of my lawyer, were afraid to have it come 
before a jury. Of course, I was very well satisfied to 
have the case come up before a judge, as juries in such 
cases generally decide as to how much the rich man can 
afford to pay the poor man, leaving out the merits of the 
case. 

The suit finally ended by the judge giving the plain- 
tiff five hundred dollars damages, which I presume he 
felt obliged to do in order to help his brother lawyers. 
They had taken the case on the contingency fee and must 
have something. 

This reminded me of a play I once attended, where 
an old German opened a summer resort a short distance 
out from the city and advertised his famous mineral 
spring. He had a large round vat, and about the time he 
anticipated a fresh batch of guests from the city he threw 
into the vat a lot of old rusty iron, some salt, and a few 
rotten eggs. He had a pipe through which he let the 



His Life 157 

water into this vat, and another pipe running from it, out 
through a small knoll or hill, so that it appeared that the 
water was coming right out of the side of the hill. The 
old man, when mixing up the dose, would say, "It is the 
finest mineral water in the world. It comes right out of 
the bowels of the earth." At the time I saw the play I 
enjoyed it, but thought it was very much overdrawn, yet 
I had the experience of seeing the same thing in my own 
case with the German farmer. 

After we had our plant in operation the town began 
to build up with cottages. Whenever I saw a cottage 
going up I felt just that much more of a load on my 
back. I felt that Cudahy, being so far from the center 
of the city, anyone who built here was practically depend- 
ent upon our company for employment, and as there are 
times of the year it does not pay to run a packing house 
full, and also years that it does not pay to run full, I was 
very anxious to have other industries locate with us at 
Cudahy, feeling that if the man who built his cottage did 
not like our way of dealing with him, he would have some 
place else to go to work. 

Fortunately for me, shortly after the merger of the 
Allis Works of Milwaukee, with the Chalmers in Chi- 
cago, in the year 1901, three of the most prominent of 
the former Allis employees became dissatisfied with the 
new way of doing things by the Allis-Chalmers Com- 
pany, so they resigned their positions and undertook to 
organize a small company of their own. For about six 
weeks they solicited subscriptions to their stock, but they 
were unable to get the required amount. So they called 
upon me, and with the understanding that the plant was 
to be located at Cudahy, 1 subscribed for twenty thou- 



158 Patrick Cudahy 



sand dollars of the stock and was also successful in get- 
ting others to subscribe for enough more to complete the 
organization, a total of about one hundred thousand dol- 
lars. Those men felt sure that they could build a plant 
sufficiently large for fifty thousand dollars and fifty thou- 
sand dollars cash capital would be all that would be re- 
quired for the operating of their business, as they in- 
tended to manufacture mining machinery principally, and 
that that was practically a cash business. 

I sold them the land, and we organized the company, 
built the plant, but instead of fifty thousand it cost 
seventy-five thousand, and when we got to work, we 
found that it required, instead of fifty thousand dollars 
cash, more than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. 
So the stockholders were obliged to guarantee the bank 
an additional one hundred thousand dollars pro rata. 

They started in fairly well, but found that even the 
one hundred thousand dollars was not sufficient capital 
to swing the business and the stockholders refused to do 
any further guaranteeing. So, as the saying goes, "We 
were up against it." But one of the original three men 
came to the rescue, stating he thought he could sell the 
plant and business for a hundred cents on the dollar, in 
case the stockholders would consent, and I assure you, 
it was no great effort to get the consent of all the stock- 
holders. I think they would have consented to sell it out 
at fifty cents on the dollar. 

However, Mr. L., was as good as his word. He suc- 
ceeded in selling the plant and the business to the Gug- 
genheims of New York. The stockholders got their 
money and Cudahy got an immense plant, for the Gug- 
genheims multiplied the capacity by four the first year 



His Life 159 

and since that have built another large plant, making in 
all an investment of about two m.illion dollars. 

This was a great help to Cudahy and took a great 
weight off my shoulders, as the plant furnishes employ- 
ment to about as many men as w^e employ. 

Later on a party of young men waited on me wath a 
proposition to build a rubber plant. They appeared to 
be practical, common sense young men, and in order to 
get them located in Cudahy, 1 took twenty thousand dol- 
lars stock in their concern. A number of other Milwau- 
kee men also took stock. The organization w'as com- 
pleted. I sold them the land, a plant was built and the 
manufacture of rubber goods begun in the year 1902. 

This, like all other small concerns, had to go through 
an experimental stage, and for that matter it is still in 
that stage. One of the young men was just out of college. 
He had studied chemistry, or somehing that he claimed 
enabled him to be a first-class compounder. Another of 
the young men had been a traveling salesman for a large 
rubber concern. The other had no experience in rubber, 
but w^as something of a salesman for other lines of 
goods. He was a full-blooded, optimistic sort of an 
effervescing chap, who never could see failure in any- 
thing. In talking about him one day with one of the 
other stockholders, I said he was too much like a bottle 
of pop to suit me, the first fizz is all there is to it, so it is 
w^ith him. 

They struggled on, I w^as a member of the board of 
directors. We held metings every month, scolded and 
found fault. One of the members of the board, a lawyer, 
who had formerly been a country school-teacher, was a 
sort of foster father to my "soda water" friend and was 



IGO Patrick Cudahy 



continually putting him forward for a prominent posi- 
tion in the company. This I stubbornly fought, as I 
did not believe in the young man's capacity as a business 
man. I liked him very much socially, but could not 
swallow him as a business proposition. 

Along in the fall of 1905, when I was out in Cali- 
fornia, the lawyer director succeeded in placing our 
effervescent friend at the head of the concern. He im- 
mediately began to show big profits on paper, so much 
so that two of the stockholders were anxious to get con- 
trol of the stock. 

My friend, Mr. Kroeck, wired me to Pasadena that 
they thought they were making money, but he felt satis- 
fied they were not, and that he thought they would bid 
for my stock, which they did. I wired them I would 
sell my stock at ninety cents ; that I believed it worth a 
hundred, yet I w'ould not stand in their way to get con- 
trol. To make a long story short, I sold them the stock 
at ninety cents, and six weeks after the transaction they 
discovered that instead of making money they were los- 
ing it, which proved my judgment of my "soda water" 
friend was correct. He had padded the inventory and 
fixed up figures in such a way that they thought they 
were making big profits. But some one became sus- 
picious, employed an expert bookkeeper, and found the 
opposite was the case. I sold my stock about the first of 
March for ninety cents, and along in June it was not 
worth the paper it was written on. 

One of the principal stockholders committed suicide 
that summer, and I really think the Rubber Works was 
the cause of it. It has been a hoodoo all along and has 
lost money for everybody that has had anything to do 



His Life 161 

with it, all because it has not been properly managed. 

We also succeeded in locating a chemical works in 
Cudahy along about this time, which started out with 
great promise, manufacturing quite a quantity of differ- 
ent kind of chemicals. But like the Rubber Works, it 
had to go through the experimental stage. The stock- 
holders got cold feet and the thing went into bankruptcy. 
As some of the stockholders were also engaged in the 
manufacture of vinegar in Milwaukee, they bought in 
the stock and converted the plant into a vinegar works, 
which has been operated quite successfully ever since. 

This year, 1911, my son-in-law, Mr. H., built quite a 
factory for the manufacture of leather mittens, and is 
conducting it very successfully, with a bright future in 
store for him. 

Taking it all in all, the building of the city of Cudahy 
has been quite a success. We have besides the manu- 
facturing plants, which I have described, a fair sized 
State Bank, of which my son, M. F., is the president, 
with a capital stock of twenty-five thousand dollars and 
a total volume of business of about one hundred sixty 
thousand dollars. There are six or seven churches, two 
parochial schools and a large graded public school, be- 
sides a number of what the proprietors are pleased to 
term hotels, also a theater for the amusement of the peo- 
ple. The city has three doctors, two law-yers, several 
miles of cement sidewalk and good macadam streets. 

It is a city with an estimated population of three 
thousand, w ith a mayor, a common council, police force, 
fire department, health department, etc., all the frills of a 
full-fledged city. This has all been accomplished in the 
space of sixteen years. I donated a number of lots to 



162 Patrick Cudahy 

each church that was built in Cudahy, as well as giving 
quite a sum of money to some of them. I also paid out 
something over five hundred dollars for shade trees and 
had them planted along the streets, regardless of who 
owned the abutting property. I made a contract with 
the city officials to furnish the city with lake water for 
ten years, for what we figure it actually costs us to pump 
it; yet, although the city is named Cudahy, and princi- 
pally through my efforts it was built, 1 have the least to 
say about its politics of any other man living. If I at- 
tempt to favor the election of a candidate for a city office 
he is sure to be defeated, or if I ask for ever so small a 
favor from the common council, I am sure to be turned 
down. So well has the cheap politician succeeded in 
prejudicing the poor man against the rich man in Cudahy 
that it has become the poor man's religion to oppose us 
on every turn. 

If one of them shows any friendship openly, he feels 
guilty for doing so, and goes about with a guilty look on 
his face. I am not surprised at this, for it is so in all 
small towns where the people are largely dependent on 
one large concern for employment. The man who snaps 
his fingers at the proprietor is the hero, and the man 
who would be reasonable and appreciate good treatment, 
is considered a coward. It is the firecracker kind of 
heroism. In a community like this it requires more cour- 
age to speak kindly of the employer than it does to abuse 
him. It is the shallow side of human nature, taken ad- 
vantage of by the cheap politician. This has always been 
so and always will be so, I presume. 



CHAPTER VIII 

Now I will take you back a few years, to something 
a little more pleasant and tell you of my social and home 
life. 

In the spring of 1891 my wife, our eldest daughter, 
and myself, made our first trip to Europe. We landed 
at Oueenstown, went directly from there to Cork and put 
up at the principal hotel, I think the name was the Im- 
perial. Had our first square meal there, after leaving 
the boat, and although it was just an ordinary plain 
meal, my wife talked about that meal for weeks after- 
ward. She being rather a poor sailor, ate very little 
aboard the ship, which accounted for her appreciation 
of her meal at Cork. 

We visited Blarney Castle, spent the day in Cork, 
went from there to Dublin, traveled through Ireland, 
Scotland, England, France and Germ.any. I learned, 
while in Ireland, that the place I was born in, Callan, was 
a very little town and the nearest I could get to it by 
steam cars was the city of Kilkenny, about eighteen miles 
away, and that 1 would be obliged to hire a jaunting car, 
or something that way, and drive this eighteen miles 
there and back. Of course, so far as my recollection of 
the place was concerned, one part of Ireland was the 
same as another to me, so I decided not to visit my birth- 
place, owing to the inconvenience tO' get there. But when 
I returned home, pretty much everybody I met inquired 

163 



Ifi4 Patrick Cudahy 

whether or not I had visited my birthplace, and, of 
course, I was obliged to tell them I had not. 

This was so embarrassing that I vowed if ever I 
crossed over again I would visit that birthplace, even if 
I had to walk the eighteen miles. And about eight years 
later I made another trip. My two oldest daughters with 
their aunt were doing Europe, so I took my oldest son 
and went over in order to be back with them. I assure 
you I did not fail to visit that birthplace on this trip. 
Went by railroad to Kilkenny and there engaged a 
jaunting car and drove to Callan. It was a small town, 
not quite as large as Cudahy. The first thing I did was 
to inquire for the oldest man in town. I was brought 
to him. He was a sturdy old fellow, about eighty-five 
years old. His name was Holden, and he was still at 
work at his trade, known over there as a wheelwright, 
making wheels for jaunting cars, wagons, and such. 
When I met him his sleeves were rolled up above his 
elbows, and, although it was in the month of April and 
the day was rather cold, his shirt was open at the neck, 
exposing his breast. I introduced myself and asked him 
if he knew a party by the name of John Shaw, who lived 
in that town just prior to 1849, engaged in the pottery 
business. The old fellow said, 'Tndade, I did, knew him 
well." I asked "Did Mr. Shaw have any children?" He 
replied, "He had a son and a daughter." I asked again, 
"Whom did the daughter marry?" "She married a man 
by the name of Cudahy," said the old man. 

I felt then that I was on the right track. Shaw was 
my grandfather and I thought it best to inquire about 
him to begin with. The old gentleman took me to the 
place where the old pottery once stood and also where 



His Life 165 

their cottage, or cabin, once stood. He became remini- 
scent and related many pleasant little anecdotes that took 
place between himself and my people. 

While talking with the old man I remembered a 
young woman who used to visit my father's house when 
I was quite young. She was a school-teacher, a very fine 
looking w^oman. about twenty-eight or thirty years old. 
My father used to call her "towny,*' and it occurred to 
me that possibly she was the daughter of this old man, 
so I said to him, *'I think your daughter lived in the same 
city that I do in the States." He replied, ''Faith, and 
maybe she did, for I'm father of eighteen of them. They 
are scattered around the world, but I do not know where 
they are." When I returned home I made inquiry, but 
found that she was not his daughter. 

I also visited the old church where my father offi- 
ciated as collector of the pennies. There was nothing 
much left of the old chapel but a ruin. Nearby was a new 
church, built pretty much on the same style. I called on 
the priests, had a pleasant visit with them. Also called 
on the principal merchant of the town, and he proved to 
be one of my father's acquaintances. He had what we 
call a dry goods store, but he was known over there as a 
draper. His store was below and he lived in rooms 
above. The first thing he did, after we were seated, was 
to slap a bottle of whiskey on the table with a glass. I 
said, "Mr. H., where is your glass ? Are you not going 
to join me?'' I never touch it," he replied. "That being 
the case," said I, "you can put the bottle back in the cup- 
board, for I do not care enough for it to drink alone." 
It was rather a novel experience to find an Irishman that 
would not take a drink with me and he showed the effects 
of his abstinence, for he was quite prosperous in business. 



166 Patrick Cudahy 

About this time a number of cousins began to turn 
up. At first I dealt out a sovereign to each of them, 
but they were coming so thick that I hunted up my 
jaunting car man and told him to put the whip to the 
horse and we got out and back to Kilkenny. 

I met my daughters with their aunt, in Liverpool, 
went with them to the north of Ireland, visited the 
Giants Causeway and other points of interest and re- 
turned to Milwaukee early in May. 

Now, about our home on Thirteenth Street. 

Three of our children were born there, and on the 
■^ery day that the third one was born, my father died. 
He was living in the old home on Sixteenth Street, where 
my sister kept house for him. He was about seventy- 
two years old and apparently in perfect health. Went to 
bed at nine o'clock, his usual time, got up during the 
night, took a drink of water, went back to bed and died. 
His nearest neighbor came down, rang our bell, got me 
out of bed at midnight, giving me the news of my 
father's death. Strange to say, I was not the least bit 
disturbed, and in fact I v^'-as so cool about it that I was 
afterward ashamed to meet the man who informed me 
of his death. 

My father had lived such a nice, pure, simple life and 
as I felt he had about lived his allotted time, I seemed to 
take his death as a natural consequence, and did not 
seem to feel the least bit sorrowful over it. 

As things were going fairly well with me, I had ac- 
cumulated at this time quite a bit of money. Our home 
was not quite large enough to accommodate the family 
comfortably. A man named Mullen, who owned a nice 
three-story brick house, corner of Thirteenth and Grand 



His Life 167 

Avenue, was about to leave Milwaukee and was offering 
his residence for sale. He approached me on the subject. 
This got me interested and I began to look around for a 
more commodious residence. There were two or three 
offers for sale on Grand Avenue, at a low figure, con- 
sidering their actual value. 

The home on Thirteenth and Grand Avenue was 
offered at twenty-five thousand dollars. Others farther 
up were offered at thirty-five thousand and were very 
much cheaper, considering the original cost, or actual 
value. Yet, of course, there was that much more money 
to be invested in a home, and although one hundred 
twenty thousand dollars, which I was worth at that time, 
was a good deal of money for one to possess, still I de- 
bated with myself a long time before I could muster up 
enough courage to leave the home where I was. But 
after dickering some with our friend Mr. Mullen, who 
owned the Thirteenth and Grand Avenue place, I suc- 
ceeded in purchasing his corner for twenty-two thou- 
sand dollars. We moved in there in April, 1S83. 

I at that time possessed the luxury of a horse and 
buggy, so was obliged to build a barn in the rear of the 
lot. This I did with our own carpenters who were em- 
ployed at the plant. Purchased the material myself and 
built the building by day work. 

Along about this time I must have been feeling my 
financial oats, sO' to say, for I thought I must have a 
farm. I bought one hundred and ten acres of land at 
Elm Grove, on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Rail- 
road, located within about half a mile from the station. 
I purchased the land for one hundred ten dollars an acre. 
One day shortly after my purchase, I met Mr. Plankin- 



1G8 Patrick Cudahy 



ton, and told him of buying the farm. He threw back 
his head, as he was accustomed to doing, and said, 
"Whew ! Guess that's all right, a man can go to a worse 
place than a farm." 

I thought, of course, that those ordinary stupid peo- 
ple that were on farms, did not know anything and I 
would show them how to make money, but it did not 
take long to convince me that I had better, like the cob- 
bler, stick to my last, and leave the farms to the farmers. 
However, a land boom happened to strike out that way 
and I managed to sell it for quite a bit of profit, that is, 
I got paid for all the foolish money I spent on it and a 
little more on top of it. 

Still, we had quite a nice time there. I built a nice 
good-sized cottage on it, costing me about seven thousand 
dollars, and we spent our summers there while the chil- 
dren were young. We had no stylish neighbors, so they 
could take off their shoes and stockings and run bare- 
footed and do as they had a mind to. There was no lake 
or place to bathe in nearby, excepting a nice running 
stream through the south end of the farm. I dammed 
up a portion of this and built a little frame shack over 
the portion that was dammed and made a bathing place 
of it. 

Directly east of the house was a running spring empty- 
ing into a boggy piece of land, composed mostly of what 
is known as peat. I hired some men and dug out a lot 
of this peat, made a bank of it around the outer edge, 
forming a wall with the earth, and allowed the water 
from the sprinrr to run into it, thinking I would have a 
miniature lake near the house. But this experiment was 
a dismal failure, for the volume of water from the spring 



His Life 169 

was not large, and what there was seeped through the 
wall about as fast as it went in. 

I also built some greenhouses on the place and gave 
the use of them to a man who was an experienced florist. 
The only rent I got from the place was cut flowers de- 
livered in our city home three times a week during the 
portion of the year that we w^ere not on the farm. This 
was stipulated in the contract and he lived up to it to the 
letter. It was the means of starting this man in business. 
I afterward sold him a remnant of the farm, thirty-five 
acres and the house that we lived in, for twelve thou- 
sand dollars, but he found he had bitten ofT a pretty big 
chunk. He paid me only two thousand dollars down, 
came crying to me shortly afterward, acting as though 
he was insane. He threatened suicide and all sorts of 
things, but I thought I knew what would cure him, so I 
cut off two thousand dollars from the price, and he got 
wtII immediately. It w^as also a good trade for me, as 
I would not be likely to find another customer for such a 
place. 

We lived on the farm during the summer. I used to 
go back and forth, spending my nights at Elm Grove, 
and most of the time I drove my horse, a distance of 
eight miles. 

One day while in the city I ran across a nice chunk 
of an Indian pony, bought a pony phaeton and a harness, 
hitched the pony to the phaeton, and led her home be- 
hind my buggy. As usual, they were out looking for 
me, and you can imagine the surprise and rejoicing when 
they saw^ the pony, in a brand new harness, hitched to a 
brand new phaeton, following behind. The pony's name 
was Midget, and she w-as the laziest thing that ever lived. 



170 Patrick Cudahy 



My wife and her sister made a trip with her to the city 
one day, a distance of a httle over eight miles, and it 
took them about all day to go to the city and back. Mid- 
get always kept good and fat and paid very little attention 
to the whip, but she was perfectly safe and a great source 
of pleasure to the children. 

One summer I paid a visit to the State Fair, where I 
saw a number of nice Shetland ponies which were offered 
for sale. I bought a couple of them, brought them home 
with me, then went to Mr. Ogden, the carriage builder, 
and had him build what is known as a wagonette, an 
omnibus on a small scale. We hitched the ponies to the 
wagonette and the whole bunch of children used to pile 
into it and go off with their ponies into the country and 
have the finest kind of times, picnicking, etc. My wife 
and I would take the horse and buggy and the youngsters 
bring up the rear with the ponies and the wagonette, and 
I tell you, it is pleasant to look back on those days now. 

We outgrew^ the capacity of our home on the corner 
of Thirteenth and Grand Avenue, as w^e had outgrown 
the cottage on Thirteenth Street. Six of our children 
were born in this house, but, sorry to say. we buried one 
nice little boy while living there. He was a little fellow 
just able to trot about. My wife had some men doing 
work in the house and they were obliged to have a candle 
to light them in the closets. They laid this candle down 
on a step ladder, or something that way, the little fellow 
got hold of it, set fire to his clothes and was so badly 
burned that he died from the shock. 

This left us eight children, and as they had grown 
up and each one was anxious for a room, our house, 
although large, was altogether too small for us. I had 



His Life 171 

planned to build an annex in the back yard. My plans 
were to make a cheap affair of it, with bedrooms above 
and an amusement hall below. It was to be connected 
with the rear end of our residence. We were to have 
theatrical performances and all sorts of doings in the 
hall. But when I laid my plans before my better half, 
she vetoed it in the strongest kind of a way, and, of 
course, her veto had to stand. So, as I could well afford 
it, I thought I would buy a piece of property in a desir- 
able part of the city and build a new residence. I bought 
a large lot on Prospect Hill, right at the entrance of Lake 
Park. It covered a space of about two hundred feet by 
two hundred fifty feet, with a street on three sides of it. 

My scheme was to build a house for ourselves on one 
end of it and have space enough for some of our sons- 
in-law, for by this time we had two married daughters; 
but here again I was knocked out by my better half. She 
said, "You had better not do any planning for your sons- 
in-law. Let them do their own planning," and I admit 
that again she was right. 

Following this new residence along, I had sketches 
and estimates made for a new house, but the price ran 
into so many figures that I abandoned the idea and be- 
gan to look around for something already built. 

The first one I looked at was a large stone house on 
Prospect Avenue, on the order of an old-country castle. 
I made an offer on it, but was awfully well pleased after- 
ward that I did not get it. The next was a place I had 
always admired, especially so about the .time we were 
first married. We used to drive up Prospect Avenue and 
when I passed this particular place, I would say in a 
joking way to my wife, "Some day I will buy that place," 



172 Patrick Cudahy 



of course, not thinking at the time that my words would 
come true. 

The place was offered to me at a price which was 
less than what the estimates were on the new home I 
was planning. The owner was one of God's chosen peo- 
ple, and everybody knows that they are good traders. 
He wanted to sell and I wanted to buy, yet whenever he 
found that I was anxious he would mark the price up 
five or ten thousand dollars, and when I became indiffer- 
ent, he would come down on his price and have the agent 
come after me. Then when I would respond to the 
agent's call, up would go the price again. It took con- 
siderable strategy to trade with the old fellow. The 
price that T offered was about twenty thousand dollars 
less than the price he was asking. He finally came down 
ten thousand and I advanced five, and matters stood this 
way for quite awhile. But we got together again and 
the old fellow eased off a little more and continued "com- 
ing across,*' which is in the language of the day, until 
we were only a thousand dollars apart 

He was coming so easy that I felt sure I would get 
the other thousand off. but finally he got !his Hebrew 
blood up and said, "No, sir, now it's not for sale," and, 
surprising as it may seem, he stuck to it. He was about 
to make a trip to Europe and when he reached New York 
I had the agent wire him that I would advance the other 
thousand dollars on the house. It was no go, however, 
"it was not for sale." 

I was very much disappointed and felt like hiring 
some fellow with a number ten boot to kick me, for miss- 
ing the trade, for my heart was set on the place and I 
felt very badly to think that I had lost it. 



His Life 173 

That summer my wife and I went out to a boarding 
place on Pine Lake to spend a few days. While there 
I heard one of the boarders and the proprietor talking 
one evening, about what they considered a very cheap 
property on Pine Lake. It was owned by a widow named 
Leuthstrom. 

Next morning I said to my wife, "Let's go down and 
look at the Leuthstrom place. I knew the Leuthstrom 
family when I was a boy." So we walked down and the 
first person we met on arriving at the Leuthstrom house 
was one of the widow's daughters |by her first husband, 
Miss Edith Gifford. I had known her when she was a 
girl of about eighteen, plump and rosy-cheeked, but forty 
years had made quite a difference in her appearance. The 
peach color was gone and in place of plump cheeks there 
were wrinkles. It was necessary for me to introduce 
myself, and after doing so we talked business. 

There were fifty odd acres, something over two thou- 
sand feet of lake front, with a good large brick house 
built for winter as well as summer use, a large barn, as 
well as a lot of small sheds, etc. They had been offered 
eighteen thousand dollars and refused it, and I was told 
afterward that when the doctor was alive he had been 
offered forty-five thousand dollars by one of Milwaukee's 
brewers and refused it,, so the property certainly looked 
cheap. I told them I would give eighteen thousand five 
hundred, and we struck a trade right there and then. 

Our Hebrew friend, after spending the summer in 
Europe, returned to Milwaukee, and although I had 
bought the country home I was still anxious to secure the 
fine place in the city. While I was contemplating build- 
ing a place, the newspaper men had considerable to say 



174 Patrick Cudahy 

about the kind of a building I was going to put up, etc. 
So one day I volunteered an interview with a reporter 
of an evening paper, setting forth that I had given up the 
idea of building or buying anything more in the city; 
that I had bought a nice country place on Pine Lake, 
where I intended to settle down and smoke my pipe of 
peace, and that, with my Grand Avenue property, would 
be all I would care for in the future. 

My Hebrew friend read this interview and became 
quite anxious, got his agent after me again, and, to make 
a long story short, it resulted in my buying his place for 
about six thousand dollars less than the price he refused 
before he went to Europe. Of course, I had him coming 
my way, for I made it appear that I did not want the 
property at all, at any price. 

During the time he owned the property he sold sixty 
feet off the south end of it and in order to make a nice 
property of it, it was necessary to get this sixty feet 
back. So after buying the place I went to the party who 
had purchased the sixty feet and offered \to pay him 
what he had paid for it some five or six years prior to 
that, with the carrying charges added to it. This he re- 
fused, saying that he would keep it and in all probability 
would build on it. 

I shaped the ground I had with the house and after 
fixing the ground, felt I could get lalong without the 
sixty feet. After a few years, however, the owner of 
the sixty feet became anxious and I succeeded in buying 
the sixty feet for ten thousand dollars less than what it 
would have cost me had 1 gotten it on my first offer. 

This is now our present home at 54 Prospect Avenue. 

Our Grand Avenue home, although we had the sad 
experience of losing one little boy, leaves some fond 




City I Idmk 



His Life 175 

recollections. It was there most of our children were 
born, and from there our two oldest daughters were mar- 
ried. It was there our children grew up around us. On 
Christmas they would prepare some entertainment for us, 
in the form of a play, or concert. One in particular I 
remember was quite original. We had a German coach- 
man named Fred, working for us, who was in the habit 
of complaining whenever asked to do anything more than 
the ordinary routine work. We then had the ponies, a 
carriage team and a horse I used in a buggy. We also 
kept a cow. So Fred would say, "I got no time, five 
horses and the cow." 

My wife was always a good hand to scrutinize bills 
before paying them, and occasionally brought Fred to 
account for some of his extravagances in the barn. 

When I returned home winter evenings from business 
I generally found my wife sitting at the table with the 
lamp, reading the paper. I would walk in through the 
house, up to where she was sitting, give her ear a pinch 
or a pull, and say "Hello, mums." So the youngsters 
made up this little scene to surprise us. One of the girls 
impersonated the mother at the table, one of the boys 
acted the part of father and the other boy was coachman 
Fred. The father walked in, took hold of mother's ear, 
mother gave the usual scream, making a playful slap with 
her hand at father. Father asks Fred if he attended to 
some certain matter. Fred replies, "No, Mr. Cudahy, I 
got no time, five horses and the cow." Father says, 
"Well, how about that halter for the cow?" "I get no 
halther, Mr. Cudahy," said Fred, "Mrs. Cudahy she 
kicked all the time, I get no halther." 

We were living on Grand Avenue at the time of the 
Pat Crowe kidnapping of my nephew at Omalia, and 



176 Patrick Cudahy 



our youngsters made a play of that. One of them wore a 
mask and went through the hold-up game in good shape. 
Our daughter Josephine, when a young girl, was quite a 
character in this line. She probably has more odd freaks 
charged up to her account than any of the others. We 
had a small chapel in this house, where evening and 
morning prayers were said, and the party who built the 
house, in order that the chapel should be kept sacred, 
closed up the portion of the room directly over the 
chapel. There was a stained glass skylight, with a pic- 
ture of a dove, in the ceiling of the chapel and a window 
in the north side of the enclosure, which lighted the sky- 
light. This window looked out on Grand Avenue, di- 
rectly over a square porch at the front door. It was only 
a small porch, about six feet by six feet, with an orna- 
mental sharp pointed picket fence on top of it. One day 
while Jo, then about four years of age, was playing on 
the second floor, in some mysterious way succeeded in 
getting into the small room above the chapel, opened the 
window and jumped, or fell, out on the roof of the 
porch. There was little more than room for her in be- 
tween the iron fence, yet she landed all right, unhurt. 
Nobody in the house knew of it until some man, who 
happened to be passing on the street, came in and notified 
them of it. He procured a ladder and rescued her from 
her perilous position on the roof. 

On another occasion, after her mother had taken her 
with her out to Troy Center to see her grandma, Jo 
complained about something that was being said, or 
done, and threatened to leave the house and go to her 
grandma, in order to see what she would do. I packed 
a good sized satchel, gave it to Jo and told her to go. 



His Life 177 

She took the grip, which was practically all she could 
carry, and started ofif. I allowed her to go out on the 
street, following at a safe distance behind, until she had 
gone about four blocks from the house in the direction 
of the railroad station, and I believe she would have 
found her way to the station, had I allowed her to do so. 
She would ride one of the ponies bare back. Occasional- 
ly the pony would come home without her and she would 
come in half an hour later, covered with dust and dirt, 
or probably scratched up. So you will see, her mother 
was never very long without a sensation of some kind 
while Jo was a youngster. 

Our daughter Mary was the first to be launched on 
the matrimonial sea. She was quite a handsome girl (so 
you will understand she took after her mother) and, of 
course, a favorite with the young men. I noticed one 
young man in particular, who was quite a frequent caller. 
I thought I could see business in his eye. After he had 
been coming to the house for about six months, I invited 
?vlary out with me for a ride in my buggy one day. She 
was only about eighteen years old at the time. When 
we were out awhile I said to her, "Mary, Mr. D., who is 
waiting on you means business and he will soon ask you 
to marry him." She thought it such a joke she laughed 
at me. "Well," said I, "You will see, and my only rea- 
son for mentioning the matter is that I do not want you 
to marry anyone until you are at least twenty-one years 
old." 

After the ride there was nothing more said about the 
matter for about another six months. This time it was 
Mary that broached the subject. She said that Mr. D. 
had popped and wanted to know what I thought of it. 



178 Patrick Cudahy 

Then it was my turn to laugh. I told her I did not know 
much about the young man, but as far as I could judge, 
he was a well-behaved, gentlemanly sort of a fellow, and 
that they had better work out the matter between them- 
selves; but to remember about the age limit. In due 
time it was Mr. D.'s turn for an interview with the "old 
man." He spoke his piece the way that most young fel- 
lows do, and then I spoke mine, stating that the only con- 
sideration and only promise I would ask for was that he 
would always treat her kindly, and time has proven he 
has kept his promise. 

My oldest daughter, Elizabeth, followed next, and 
was married from this same house, and about the same 
preliminaries were gone through with. She also got a 
very kind, good man, as well as a good business man for 
a husband. 

Then came the third oldest, Katherine. She was 
married from our present city home, 54 Prospect Avenue. 
She also procured a first-class man, religious, kind, and 
good, as w^ell as a good business man, from Dayton, 
Ohio. He not being a resident of Milwaukee, and Kath- 
erine being obliged to make Dayton her home, is the only 
unpleasant feature of her marriage. But I believe the 
Bible tells us that one should leave father and mother 
and cling to thy husband, etc., etc. 

I will not tell you about the last marriage in our fam- 
ily, which was of our daughter Irene, to a bang-up young 
fellow, the kindest of the kind, impetuous, impulsive, al- 
ways wants to win in anything he engages in, let it be a 
game of croquet or a business undertaking. At the age 
of twenty-one his father offered him, as a birthday pres- 
ent, stock in a well established business, the book value of 



His Life 179 

which was fifteen thousand dollars. It was a sure thing, 
a seven per cent stock. Yet the young man declined the 
offer, saying to his father, "Father, I thank you sincerely, 
but I would much prefer the money, so that I can start 
in business for myself. I have been making a study of a 
certain line and I know I can m.ake a go of it." His 
father and his uncle both opposed him, but he stuck it 
out, until they finally consented, and have never had rea- 
son to regret it. 

When this young man, Mr. Helmholz, called upon me 
to ask for Irene, I said, "You and Irene have got this 
thing all settled and now you come and ask me." "Well," 
he said, "Suppose I had gone at it the otlier way and 
asked you before I found out how I stood with Irene, 
would it be any better?" I said, "I guess you are all 
right," and said, as they say in the play, "God bless you, 
my boy." 

Our girls have been of the marrying kind. Out of 
the six daughters we have only two left at home with us. 
Josephine, the older of the two, is a very light hearted, 
happy dispositioned girl; seems to have a faculty of driv- 
ing away the blues or any kind of depression that comes 
upon her. She is a great comfort to her mother and my- 
self, and we do not regret the least bit that she has not 
yet lost her heart to any young man. In fact, I am sel- 
fish enough to hope that she will not, for as my old sweet- 
heart and I are growing old, nothing can be more com- 
forting than to have one of the girls with us. Of course, 
she is liable to meet her affinity most any day, and if she 
does, why, we will have to be reconciled and let her go. 
But as I stated before, nothing could be more pleasant to 
look forward to than to have one of our daughters re- 



180 Patrick Cudaiiy 

main single with us. In case that I were to die before 
my wife it would be very consoling for her to have some 
one to look after her in her old days, and the same would 
be the case if I were left alone. Of course, we could al- 
ways hire a companion, but no companion would be the 
same as our own daughter. However, 1 am preaching 
again on a matter that Josephine herself has no control 
over, and neither have I. 

I feel very proud of my sons-in-law. I believe all of 
the matches were love matches. I know my daughters 
are happy, and although I feel disposed to help them in 
dividing up what I have accumulated, yet their husbands 
are all independent of me and are all capable of carving 
out their own fortunes. This brings to my mind what a 
friend of mine said to me, at the time my daughter Irene 
was about to be married. There were the usual pink 
teas and functions, such as young people have nowadays, 
and there was more or less in the papers about the hap- 
penings. When I met my friend he said to me, "Cudahy, 
I see you are still doing business at your house." "Yes," 
said I, "we seem to keep before the public." "Well," 
said he, "there is one thing about you that is different 
from some others I see about, which is, when your daugh- 
ters get married you don't take in boarders," which is 
very true. I have been fortunate in having my daugh- 
ters, with their husbands and children, for Christmas 
dinners. The last time we had nineteen at the table, and 
if my daughter Helen were at home it would have been 
twenty. 

I have told you a good deal about the girls. Now I 
will tell you about the boys. Our oldest boy, Michael, 
is with me in business. He is our treasurer and vice- 



His Life 181 

president, as well as one of our directors. He graduated 
from the Wisconsin State University, receiving an A.B. 
He is a cool-headed fellow, thinks before he speaks; he 
does a lot of deep thinking, in fact, he has all the qualifi- 
cations that are required in this business. It is a busi- 
ness in which big money can be made, provided you dis- 
play good judgment in when to own property and when 
not to own it. One has to watch the corn crop, with 
which hogs are made ; the prospects of a large or a small 
crop of hogs; whether the laboring men, who are the 
meat eaters, are well employed the world over or not. In 
addition to all this there is the manufacturing part to 
look after, keeping down expenses, using judgment as to 
what kind or brand of meat is best to make of certain 
kinds of hogs, etc., etc., all of which I feel certain he is 
capable of mastering in time. 

He has been with me only about one year now and 
has already gotten things well in hand. He is handi- 
capped by having a well-to-do father, but is one of the 
common sense kind, and I believe he will be able to carry 
the load all right when it is dumped on him, and that 
will be pretty soon. 

The younger son, C. J., ever since a boy has had a 
taste for public speaking. He is as much at ease stand- 
ing on a platform or stage, speaking in a public hall, as 
one would be at home in an easy chair. Nothing dis- 
turbs him and he has quite a gift of the gab. So I have 
encouraged him to take a course in law, which he is now 
doing. He graduated from Harvard University last 
year, receiving an A.B., and is now at the Wisconsin 
University Law School, and I feel certain will make 
good, for his habits are good and he has the stuff in him. 



182 Patrick Cudahy 

I do not know that he will follow the law for a living, but 
as my mother would say in such a case, "It will be no 
load for him to carry." 

My youngest daughter, Helen, is now in Paris, at- 
tending a school of travel. It is a school which is con- 
ducted by an American lady, a Miss May from Boston. 
There are twelve other girls in this school with Helen, 
all Americans. They study history and art, go about vis- 
iting the different art galleries, and will visit all the large 
cities of note in Europe. Helen is the flower of the 
flock. She is a fine looking girl, so it goes without say- 
ing she takes after her mother, and what is better than 
good looks, she has that very scarce commodity, par- 
ticularly among girls, common sense. She also has a 
lovely, unselfish disposition. 

My father used to tell about a man who had seven 
daughters, and as they got married and left him in turn, 
the last one was always the best with the father. So it 
is with me. 

In the summer of 1904, while living in our summer 
home at Pine Lake I was taken ill. Had been doing 
considerable work, bought the city residence, as well as 
the Pine Lake summer home, made quite a few altera- 
tions in the city home, all of which I planned myself, 
without an architect, and also did considerable work on 
my country place. A small portion of the country land 
was low, what we would call a tamarack swamp, with a 
number of tamarack trees gowing in it. I had men grub 
out the trees, put in two feet of filling, and converted 
what was a swamp into a beautiful little park. To do 
this I cut off a hill or projecting piece of land and filled 
up the swamp with about two feet of gravel from the 



His Life 183 

hill. Then in order to get soil for the grass to grow, I 
cut a little channel around through the edge of it, con- 
necting each end of it with the lake. This little channel 
was a winding affair, filled with pure lake water and 
added a great deal to the beauty of the park and the earth 
that was taken out of it w^as sufficient to make a good 
filling over the gravel, enough to give me a good green 
sod. 

While I was doing all this I was at the same time 
attending to my business, so my wife and the doctor who 
attended me during my illness decided that my whole 
trouble was nervousness, caused by overwork. 

They were mistaken, however, for it was discovered 
later that my sickness was caused by an abscess forming 
on the pelvis of my left kidney. The abscess was caused 
by a small hard particle, commonly called a stone, set- 
tling in tlie pelvis. This passed through the channel 
leading from the kidney to the bladder and while it was 
making this trip, I suffered the tortures of the damned. 
Yet I was told that I was simply nervous. As soon as I 
was able, I left our country home and went to the Sacred 
Heart Sanitarium on the south' side. The doctor in 
charge there discovered what my trouble was, and owing 
to the nature of it consulted with my wife, and between 
them they decided to bring up Dr. Billings, from Chi- 
cago, to diagnose my case. They did not tell me any- 
thing about this until within about half an hour of the 
time that Dr. Billings would arrive, fearing it would 
alarm me. But they were mistaken in this. I was as 
cool as a cucumber. 

I had a colored man for a nurse at the time and after 
Dr. Billings had made a thorough examination of me, he 



184 Patrick Cudahy 



and the other two doctors went downstairs into a room 
right below the one I was occupying, to talk the matter 
over. We could hear them through the floor and I said 
to Charley, the nurse, "Guess it's all up with me, Char- 
ley." When the doctors came back to my room I said to 
Dr. Billings, "What is the verdict, the undertaker or 
what?" "O no," he said, "It's not as bad as that, but 
you will have to make up your mind to be a loafer for 
about a year. You will have to go to California or to 
some equitable climate." 

I remained in the sanitarium for about three weeks 
and had recovered sufficiently to leave there and go home^ 
but I was still nervous and peevish, so went once more 
to see Billings, with the same result; that I must loaf. 
It was just at the beginning of our busy season in Octo- 
ber and I could not make up my mind to go off to Cali- 
fornia and loaf for any great length of time. Like a 
great many others, I thought I knew better than the 
doctor. 

Instead of going to California I went to Asheville, 
North Carolina, and my wife packed up and came with 
me. When we took the sleeper out of Chicago we un- 
fortunately struck one in which the heating apparatus 
would not work, so the car was as cold as a refrigerator 
at night. We reached Chattanooga the following even- 
ing. Put up in a hotel there for the night, and that also 
was without heat, so we had to shiver again. 

Next day we went on to Asheville. We seemed to 
ride all the way from Chicago to Asheville in a cold wave 
and when we got to Asheville we put up at Kenilworth 
Inn, and as it was between seasons, the manager of the 
hotel was economizing. The house would be heated dur- 



His Life 185 

ing the clay, but it would get almost down to freezing 
during the night. As cold was the worst thing that I 
could have to contend with, I had a relapse, which the 
doctor feared was going to prove fatal. In fact he told 
my wife that there was no hope for me, and I learned 
afterward, a newspaper man boarded in the hotel at the 
time, who was supplying news as to my condition to the 
newspapers. The news of my relapse reached Chicago, 
and the Record-Herald printed my picture with a kind of 
an obituary at the bottom of it. A copy of the paper 
was mailed to me and I had the pleasure of reading it 
later on. 

My plucky little wife was by my side all the time and 
as soon as ever my condition warranted it, we packed up 
and started for California. We left Asheville about two 
o'clock in the afternoon and put up for the night at some 
city on the way, the name of which I do not remember. 
We secured a state room on the Pullman on the Southern 
Pacific Railroad next morning and rode to New Orleans, 
where we rested twenty-four hours. 

The doctor at Asheville instructed my wdfe to see 
that I got plenty of good milk to drink ; that it was about 
the best thing I could have. She put on her thinking 
cap and went out shopping, bought a kind of a little bottle 
holder, half a dozen pint bottles, also a tin pail. She 
got the bottles filled with milk and succeeded in getting 
the porters on the Pullman to keep the pail filled with ice 
around the bottles, so T had fresh milk on my trip on 
tap all the time. 

It was amusing to see this arrangement of hers, 
and, although I was in a miserable condition, I could 
see a humorous side to the arrangement and nick- 



186 Patrick Cudahy 



named her "dear little Ann, with her bottles and her pan." 
From New Orleans we moved to San Antonio, where 
we made another stop. I was so weak and nervous on 
this trip that when I walked into the dining room to my 
meals I wobbled from one side to the other. I did not 
have enough confidence in myself to feel sure where I 
was going to place my foot when I made a step. From 
San Antonio we moved to El Paso and from there to 
Los Angeles. 

The second day after we arrived in Los Angeles, I 
called on Doctor Bridge for consultation. After asking 
me a number of questions his advice was a repetition of 
the other doctor's; that I would have to loaf. I asked 
him how long, and he said six months, maybe a year. 
This sentence was the worst that had been passed on me 
up to that time. My little soldier wife was with me all 
the time, bossing me and advising me. 

We remained at the hotel for about a week, and, al- 
though my oldest brother had telegraphed half a dozen 
messages, pressing me to come and live with him in Pasa- 
dena, where he had a large winter home, we decided to 
rent a furnished house and go housekeeping. I knew 
that if I had gone to live with my brother it would be a 
case of overdoing the kind act. He would want to pre- 
scribe what I should eat, what exercise I should take, 
auto rides, etc., and I felt if I accepted his invitation I 
would feel more or less duty bound to act on any sugges- 
tion he would make. My condition was such that if any 
one was to be ugly and harsh with me, I could fight back, 
but if they were to sympathize or treat me with great 
kindness, it made me sad, and sometimes cause me to 
weep almost like a woman. 



His Life 187 

So one day when I was feeling fairly well we took 
the electric tram to Pasadena. There we hired a cab 
and went house hunting. Of course, I was interested in 
looking the houses over, but my little soldier wife or- 
dered me to remain in the carriage. I attempted to 
leave the carriage, but was ordered back, in a kind but 
firm tone of voice, and I was in such a condition that I 
obeyed like a child. After I fully recovered my strength, 
I often laughed at the idea of being so obedient. 

Finally, after looking at a number of bungalows and 
cottages, we hit, or rather, my little soldier wife hit on 
a very nice two-story cottage on Orange Grove Avenue, 
the finest avenue in Pasadena. We went on and got set- 
tled in our cozy little cottage, nicely furnished. The 
house was owned and occupied by a Unitarian minister 
and his wife, who had a son and daughter in Oklahoma 
City, and were about to visit them for the winter. This 
was the reason they rented their cottage. The cottage 
contained a very nice library full of books, a piano with 
a piano player, 

I settled dow^i to a vegetarian diet, lived on bread and 
milk, green peas, nuts, etc. Cut out all kinds of stimu- 
lants, including tea and coffee, also smoking, and was 
what you might call a very good man, enforced goodness 
I presume, for the winter. I remained in bed mornings, 
had a nice little wood fire in the room, and read my 
paper in bed. About ten o'clock I dressed, took a sun 
bath for awhile, and was what you might call a first- 
class loafer. Made a business of curing my kidneys. 
Found a first-class physician whom I consulted about 
every two weeks, and showed improvement right along. 

When we decided to rent the cottage, my wife went 
to one of those employment bureaus and engaged a serv- 



188 Patrick Cudatiy 



ant girl. She was a great big, powerful woman of about 
thirty-five or forty years of age, either Scotch or Scotch- 
Irish. She was a rough-and-ready, coarse sort of an in- 
dividual, and it was amusing at times to hear her work 
off her broad Scotch expressions. I nicknamed her 
"Highland Mary." 

We had a large Tom cat, a lazy, loafing kind of a 
cat, yet at night he seemed to have cat callers, for they 
put up about as good a cat concert as you ever heard. 
Highland Mary must have gotten it into her head that the 
cat was possessed, for one day she came to my wife and 
said, "Thet ket v^-as fexed." Don't know what she meant 
by that unless she thought that the devil was in the cat. 

One day while in a talkative mood. Highland Mary 
let out her secret to my wife. It seems her reason for 
going to California was that through some matrimonial 
advertisement she had gotten in touch with some man 
who ran a photograph gallery at Ocean Beach, a suburb 
outside of Los Angeles. She asked my wife for a day 
off to go out and hunt up her man, but, poor girl, when 
she got there Mr. Man had moved away, and poor Mary 
came back home, very sad and crestfallen. She remained 
with us for about six weeks, when she found an excuse 
to leave us. 

Our next maid was a Scandinavian, Annie Olsen, an 
unfortunate, nervous creature about the same age as 
Highland Mary. This one also had a hard luck story. 
Said that some aunt of hers had written to her in Den- 
mark about her wealth in this country, inviting the girl 
out here to share it with her, but when the girl arrived 
in this country the wealth, if it had ever existed, had 
disappeared and she was obliged to hustle for a living. 



His Life 189 

I was in the habit of playing the piano player myself 
evenings, but Annie Olsen served notice on me I must not 
play after nine o'clock, as that was her time for going to 
bed and she did not want to be disturbed. And I tell 
you, I obeyed her mandate to the letter as it was no easy 
matter to get a girl of any kind out there. About every 
w^eek or so she would serve notice on us that she was 
going to quit the following Monday, but when Monday 
came around, she went on with her work just the same. 
One day she cooked some sort of a head cheese, or a dish 
of some sort of hash or chopped meat, which none of us 
cared particularly for, but we all made away with it in 
some way, fearing to offend "her queenship." Notwith- 
standing all the threats of leaving, she remained with us 
until we broke up. 

I had never had a kodak in my hands until T went to 
California, but I bought one there. Went about photo- 
graphing about everything I could set my eyes on — the 
rose trees, residences, anything that came my way, was 
photographed. Sometimes the thing would become 
shifted and I would continue to snap until I had used up 
the roll, but when I took the film to the man who was to 
develop and print the pictures I would find it all a blank. 
But, like everything else, I soon learned how to work it 
and became quite an expert at picture taking. I remem- 
ber taking a picture of one rose tree, a climbing rose, 
with a stem fully five inches thick at the bottom, cover- 
ing a two-story cottage entirely w^ith its branches. 

Through my oldest brother I becaine a temporary 
member of one of the country golf clubs in Pasadena, 
and played golf with considerable success, which fur- 
nished me exercise as well as amusement. 



190 Patrick Cudahy 

One thing in particular that I remember that winter 
was the Flower Carnival. It was held on the first or 
second of January. A large number of carriages and 
automobiles were trimmed with natural flowers, as well 
as a great many advertising floats, advertising the sul> 
urban towns, which were being boomed at the time. The 
procession was beautiful, and quite impressive. It wound 
up at the race track, where exhibitions of chariot racing 
were given — two teams of four horses each, hitched to 
chariots, and driven around the mile track at break-neck 
speed — presume after the style of the old Roman chariot 
races. One of the teams became unmanageable and ran 
away, that is, the team could not be stopped at the Grand- 
stand, but ran around two or three times more. Finally 
a couple of riders on horseback dashed up, one each side 
of the runaway team, caught the outside horse by the 
bridle and succeeded in stopping them. A man named 
Mischall was the winner. He was a big, powerful, 
swarthy looking fellow, I should judge him a Spaniard. 

All the horses were wild, unmanageable things, and 
the track being dry and dusty, and the speed of the 
horses, noise of the chariot wheels, with the cheering and 
shouting of the crowds watching, made this about the 
wildest race I ever saw. 

In the latter part of February my daughter Josephine 
came out to visit us, and after remaining a few weeks, 
my wife and she returned to Milwaukee, when my daugh- 
ters Katherine and Irene came out and took their places. 
We made several excursions to other small towns around 
southern California, among them Catalina Island, where 
we spent a very pleasant day boating and fishing. On 
the next day, after returning to Pasadena, while walking 



His Life 191 

the streets, I felt something snap in my eye. It made me 
reel. I went into a real estate office and rested awhile. 
Then discovered that one of my eyes was sightless. My 
physician lived only a block away, went over and told 
him what had happened and he said, "You had better 
see an oculist right away." I said, "Well, it is a vein 
that is broken in there, is it not.^ And all that can be 
done is to wait until the blood has absorbed." "That is 
true," said the doctor, "Yet I think you should consult 
an oculist." 

That being Saturday, I decided to wait until Monday 
when I went to Los Angeles and consulted a member of 
the firm of Grant & McLeach. Doctor Grant looked 
into my eye with his magnifying glass and repeated, "It's 
a very bad mess, it's a very bad mess." This is all I 
could get out of him. Said he would report to my phy- 
sician. That evening I called on Doctor Bridge, my 
physician. He told me the oculist reported that I was 
pretty sure to lose the sight of the eye, and there was 
fear of my losing sight of the other one. Strange to 
say, I did not believe a single word of it. Said to him, 
"I will bet you ten dollars I will see out of that eye in- 
side of two weeks." "I will not bet you," he said, "Be- 
cause I want you to see." 

I got right to work to fix up the eye in the same busi- 
ness way that I did to fix up the kidney. I ate little or 
nothing and kept perfectly quiet. My physician gave me 
something to assist in the absorption of the blood clot, 
and it was not more than a week or so when I could see 
a little with the eye ; in about two weeks I could see fair- 
ly well. I went back and consulted the oculist again, and 
they were greatly surprised to see what was accomplished 
in so short a time. 



102 Patrick Cudahy 

During the time I had the eye trouble I could not read 
or do anything much in fact, except lounge about, so I 
got to musing and composing little rhymes in my mind, 
which I sent home to my wife whenever I wrote her a 
letter. At home at that time were my wife, Josephine, 
Michael, Clarence and Helen. Irene and Katherine 
were with me. Just before we left for home I composed 
the following. It amused the folks at home very much to 
get it, and they had quite a bit of fun on me, joking me 
about it. 

We will soon be on the move, 
To meet those we dearly love. 

To number fifty- four. 

On Lake Michigan's beautiful shore. 

We will met sweet little Ann, 
With her bottles and her pan ; 

She weighs one hundred seventy pounds of meat, 

Every pound of which is sweet. 

And there will be happy Jo, 
With her eyes and cheeks aglow, 

They once crowned her Queen of May, 

Because she was so good and gay. 

1 hope Michael will be there. 

For being absent would not be fair ; 

He is clear-headed as a bell. 

And about college he can tell. 

There will be Clarence John, 
Who, they say, has been getting on 

A little better than the rest, 

And has developed quite a chest. 

There will also be sweet Helen, 
Round and plump as a melon; 

She is always full of glee, 

And busv as a bee. 




Mks. Anna AI. CruAiiv 




Patrick Cudahv 
AT fi:$ Ykaks of Ace 



His Life 193 

We left California the latter part of April. I was 
feeling fairly well, in fact, the doctor pronounced my 
condition as practically normal. I w^ent back to my desk 
in the office and went to work, but found it would not go 
very well. 1 could get along for a week or so at a time, 
then I would get tired and have to lay off for another 
week. Continued on this way through the summer and 
came to the winter, but in January I pulled up stakes and 
my wife and I took a trip to the other side. We landed 
at Gibralter, went through Spain and then to Southern 
France. From there we took a steamer into Marseilles 
and Alexandria. Spent a week in Cairo, visited the tem- 
ples and tombs of the kings on the Nile at Luxor. From 
Egypt we went to Jerusalem, spending a w-eek or ten 
days there. From there to Naples, Rome, Florence. 
Venice, Milan, through the Italian Lakes to Lucerne, then 
to Paris, London, Liverpool and then home, spending in 
all about four months' time, and I came home well braced 
up. 

Shortly after 1 returned home w-e had quite a fire in 
our plant, which destroyed about one-third of our build- 
ings. We never discovered the origin of the fire. It 
started about six-thirty in the evening, September 13th, 
1906. I was notified by telephone, left the house at once, 
took the interurban car for Cudahy and rode on the front 
platform of the car, which was loaded with a lot of 
young fellows on their way dovvai to enjoy the fire. Al- 
though it was serious, yet there were things about it that 
were amusing. I could hear the chatter on the car ; some 
were thoroughly disgusted because it was not more of a 
fire than it was; did not think it w^as worth paying car 
fare down to witness. 



194 Patrick Cudahy 



Soon after I arrived there, the city of Milwaukee 
Fire Department was on the ground, doing good work. 
I tore around about crazy, shouting and giving orders, 
and just as I was passing along the platform, through 
the crowd, a gentleman I knew (and thought had better 
sense) sang out, ''Hello, Mr. Cudahy, won't you have a 
cigar?" The idea of smoking a cigar under such con- 
ditions ! 

Our tank house was completely destroyed and had to 
be rebuilt. The fire occurred just before the beginning 
of our busy season, so it was necessary to hustle and get 
the buildings rebuilt. And I have always found that 
whenever you want to get a thing done in a hurry the 
best way to do is to do it yourself; so as soon as the fire 
was out and we could get to work, I put on all the men 
I could, working both night and day, clearing away the 
debris. I also was fortunate in getting a wrecking crew 
from the Chicago & North-Western Railway Company 
to help remove the large tanks. 

I was out doors all day long, with the men, yelling 
and shouting, urging and pushing things the best way I 
knew how until we had it rebuilt, which was only forty- 
nine days from the time of the fire, to the time we were 
using the buildings again, and, although there was a good 
deal of strain on me in getting this work done, yet I 
seemed to thrive at it, and felt much better after the 
job was done than I did before I began at it. In fact, I 
was my old time self once more, and I can only attribute 
the change to the fact that I was out in the open air and 
on my feet, getting plenty of exercise, during those forty- 
nine days. And, later on, when I would get grouchy, or 
complain about my health, my wife would say it was 




SeI'TEMI'.KK N, I'.IDC) 




N()\KM1!KI< 10, 19()(i 

lU W'oKKixc, ])A^s Latkk 



His Life 195 

about time for another fire. The fire was a blessing in 
disguise in more ways than one. It not only restored me 
to permanent health, but we got our buildings in much 
better shape than what we had them before. 

We had an old-time employee with us who looked 
after our jobbing trade and our traveling men, as well 
as keeping track of the credits. He was a good, faithful 
man, but had a mania for keeping track of outside mat- 
ters as much as his own, or even a little more so. If 
there was a street car strike in a city, or some kind of a 
revolution down in one of the South American republics, 
our friend would be more agitated about it than whether 
his orders were good or not. We finally made a change, 
taking one of our traveling men in ofif the road and plac- 
ing him over the jobbing trade and the salesmen, and 
turning the credit part of it over to our old friend. The 
young man took hold like a new broom, increased the 
number of traveling men from three to fifteen, and 
things went along swimmingly. But our poor old friend, 
who had charge of the credit department, began to grow 
a little bit on the feeble-minded order and his memory 
failed him, so much so that we were obliged to make 
another change in that department. 

We were now approaching the fall of 1907. We had 
a fairly high priced hog, about 6^ to 6^. Our English 
buyers generally provided at this time of the year for 
what they called their requirements, some of them buying 
three months in advance, others six months and eight 
months, and still others as much as a year in advance. 
Their orders would run from five boxes a week, weekly 
or fortnightly for months in advance. This is their way 
of doing business when they think the market is about 



106 Patrick Cudahy 



right, and I felt this fall that it was a fairly good time 
for me to meet them. We figured that we were due for 
a fairly good run of hogs the coming year and in all 
probability would buy them at about a cent chaper than 
what they were selling at that time. I went on and sold 
them all they would take, so we had as much as twenty 
million pounds of stuff sold to them on our books before 
the first of November. This, you will observe, was just 
before the panic of 1907. For some reason or other, I 
had a kind of an intuition that something was going to 
happen in the financial world, so instead of paying our 
notes, as they fell due in September and October, I re- 
newed them, and had as much as five hundred thousand 
dollars to our credit in the banks when the panic set in. 
The large packers in Chicago, particularly one of them, 
were very much aft"ected by the money stringency, their 
hands being practically tied so that they could not do it 
all, as they usually tried to. 

The price of hogs, owing to lack of com.petition, 
dropped down, so we filled some of our contracts with 
four cent hogs, while they were based on a six and one- 
half cent hog. I would be ashamed to tell anybody all 
the money we made during the year beginning November 
1st, 1907, and ending November 1st, 1908. Don't know 
whether I deserve any great credit for it or not. Think 
my lucky star was guiding me about that time. 

Although we had reason to rejoice about our success 
in business, we also had a sad experience, for just at the 
beginning of the year, our cashier, Mr. Andrew S. Clark, 
who was also our secretary, as well as one of our di- 
rectors, was taken sick and died of cancer of the stomach. 
He had been ailing for some time, yet he was such a 



His Life 197 

plucky fellow he would not give up, nor would he con- 
sult a doctor. I noticed him shrinking in flesh so much 
that I insisted on his consulting a physician. The phy- 
sician did not inform him of his serious trouble, but told 
me privately. We had Mr. Clark taken to Rochester, 
Minnesota, with the hope that an operation might save 
him, but when the surgeons there opened him up, they 
pronounced his case hopeless, so all there was to do was 
to get him home to die. I secured a private car from 
the Chicago & North-Western Road and made him as 
comfortable as possible. Got him home safely, but he 
only lived about a week afterward. 

He was one of the most faithful men that ever lived, 
honest and true, and you could trust him with every dol- 
lar you had and go to Europe, or anywhere else, and feel 
perfectly safe. He was a Baptist in religion, and a very 
staunch one; would not do anything, not even read a 
newspaper, on Sundays. Did not believe in dancing or 
theaters, and his religion carried him to such an extreme 
that one might say he was a fanatic, or pronounce him 
narrow minded. Yet he v>^as so honest in it all that one 
could not help but admire him for it. 

This was the second death that we had in our office 
family. About a year and a half prior to Mr. Clark's 
death we lost our bookkeeper, Mr. Robert Bradford, who 
was also a fine fellow. He was a member of the Presby- 
terian Church, and just as religious as Mr. Clark was 
and just as true and just as honest. 

We had no trouble in filling both of these men's posi- 
tions in the business, but never could fill them in so far 
as their personality or fellowship was concerned. Yet, 
on the whole, we have been very fortunate in that way. 
We have had very few deaths among our men. 



CHAPTER IX 

Now let us go back to something a little more pleasant. 

During the first years that I was associated with Mr. 
Plankinton, I heard him make quite a speech, in his 
own way, about Puget Sound. He had never been there 
himself, but had heard others talk about it, and he put 
it in such glowing colors that I made up my mind some 
day I would visit Puget Sound. That idea seemed to 
stick in my head all the time. So finally, in the spring 
of 1908, I suggested this trip to my wife. 

The husband of one of our daughters, Mrs. Dahlman, 
had been a candidate for the nomination of mayor of 
Milwaukee, early in the spring, and met with a sad de- 
feat. My daughter was up to her ears in the campaign 
with him and, of course, was badly depressed over the 
outcome of the nomination. So we had her come with 
us to the West. 

We went out over the Northern Pacific Road, stop- 
ping off at Spokane. While riding in the Pullman car I 
got chatting with a man and when he discovered I was 
going to Spokane he told me he had a brotlier there who 
was president of a bank, gave me his own card, and asked 
me to call on his brother, Mr. Twohy. After getting 
settled in the hotel in Spokane, I hunted up the banker 
and found him to be a very fine gentleman. He called 
on us at the hotel, was very anxious for us to visit his 
home and remain a couple of days in the town, but Puget 

199 



200 Patrick Cudahy 



Sound was our destination, which I had in my mind's 
eye, so I did not care to remain long in Spokane. 

However, I found Spokane to be quite a city, with 
great prospects. A large river, which drops a hundred 
feet or more within half a mile, runs through the center 
of the city. This some day will be utilized to great ad- 
vantage for power and help to make Spokane a great 
city. 

We took the train next morning at seven o'clock for 
Seattle, arriving there that evening. We put up in the 
Washington Annex Hotel, a very coz}'-, homelike place. 
Out of Seattle we made any number of side trips on 
trolley cars, boats, etc. I always had plans the night be- 
fore as to what we would do next morning, and if the 
boat left at eight o'clock I would hustle the women out of 
bed for an early breakfast, so as to be in time for the 
boat. My wife occasionally found fault about being 
hurried up so much, said that I w-as a little too strenuous, 
etc., so I said, "Now, see here, I will resign right now as 
guide and let one of you do the planning and I will do 
just what you tell me." So, next day I waited for an 
invitation to go somewhere. Mrs. D. assumed the posi- 
tion of guide, but it did not take long for her to become 
very tired of it, and both of them decided I had better 
continue in my old position. 

I found Seattle to be a very thriving, go-ahead city. 
One of the most impressive things I saw was where land 
had been platted into city lots; land which once was a 
forest, the huge stumps still remaining. The excavator 
would take out one of those tremendous stumps, a car- 
load in itself, and no sooner was the stump out than a 



His Life 201 

nice cottage or an up-to-date bungalow was built where 
the stump had stood. This certainly was an illustration 
of progress. 

Everybody, everywhere you went, talked business 
and money making. Riding in the street cars I asked 
persons sitting next to me, "How long have you been in 
Seattle?" One would say, 'This is my first year," an- 
other would say, "I have been here two years," but when 
it got to four or five years, the party was considered an 
old settler. 

When we were returning home, on this trip, while the 
porter was closing up the berths in the morning, I hap- 
pened to sit with an old eastern lady, I think from some 
place in Connecticut. We got chatting about Seattle. 
She and her husband had been to California and came 
home by way of Seattle. She said she never saw such 
people in her life for talking money. "Why," she said, 
"They will sell their home and buy another one if there 
is an opportunity to make a hundred dollars." This 
really told the story; it was the spirit of the Seattle peo- 
ple — after the dollars. Of course, it may appear vulgar 
to such people as the old lady, yet that is the spirit that 
builds big cities, and I predict that Seattle will be a great 
city in time. It will be the New York of the Pacific. 

We visited quite a number of very interesting places 
from Seattle. Among them was the navy yard and sev- 
eral of our large battleships were there at that time. The 
Nebraska was one of them, but we were not allowed to 
go aboard. 

We also took a boatride down to Tacoma, a very in- 
teresting city, very nicely located, with a better harbor 



202 Patrick Cudahy 



than Seattle has, but Seattle has the start and is going 
to keep it. It is another case of Chicago and Milwaukee. 

After spending about a week in Seattle, we went to 
Portland, which, as everybody knows, is a much older 
city, of more wealth and refinement, not so much of the 
money making, speculative, striving spirit. In Portland 
we met an old friend of mine, a banker from Oshkosh, 
Mr. Schreiber, and his wife. 

Again we patronized the trolley for sight-seeing, 
rode up to a high elevated spot just outside the city, at 
the top of which is built a sort of pavilion, with glass 
all around it. From there we had a most beautiful view 
of Portland and the surrounding country. Also visited a 
very pretty park there. Took a train for a trip down 
along the hills, a very pretty ride, pretty scenery, and a 
number of little streams running down the mountains, 
forming little rapids and cascades. We returned by boat, 
and on the boat was an ex-chief of police from Chicago. 
He was chief during the time that Swift was mayor. He 
related a number of his expriences with criminals and 
other prisoners, which was quite interesting to us. 

From Portland we went to Victoria, B. C, by boat 
during the night. Landed there about eight o'clock in 
the morning and put up at the Princess Hotel. Although 
this was only a short distance, about ten hours' ride on 
the boat, it was like going into a foreign country. 

About this time I had gotten infected with the timber 
buying fever, and having the addresses of some timber 
commission men in Victoria, I started out about eight- 
thirty to hunt them up, but there was scarcely anybody 
on the streets. Victoria is a sort of a city of retired 



His Life 203 

Englishmen, and, of course, they do not get up so early. 
About nine o'clock, however they began to move about, 
with their high stockings, plaid caps and smoking their 
pipes. 

I found a timber man and he proposed an automobile 
ride to show me some timber he had for sale. We took 
the auto, and this ride was one of the greatest experiences 
I ever had in an auto. It was about a twenty-five mile 
ride. We went up about seventeen hundred feet and 
down again, that is, we crossed a ridge about seventeen 
hundred feet high, right through heavy pine timber, over 
a government road, part of the time looking down several 
hundred feet. 

I did not invest, however. Next day we took a 
steamer on Puget Sound, for Vancouver, arriving there 
that evening. It was a very pretty ride. While looking 
out over the bow of the boat I saw some tremendous, 
great big sea monster, swimming with a kind of a roll 
resembling a long log floating diagonally. Some called 
it a sea horse. 

We arrived at Vancouver in the evening and put up 
at the Vancouver Hotel. By this time the timber fever 
had taken pretty strong hold of me. I had written sev- 
eral parties inciuiring about timber, and, of course, had 
a good many replies, as well as a good many soliciting 
my prospective order. Among the number was a Mr. 
Brown, who was a retired employee of the Canadian 
Pacific Railway. He had been with the company a num- 
ber of years and they retired him on pension, so he 
opened a real estate office, handling timber land and city 
property. His partner was a hard working young man 
by the name of McCauley. 



204 Patrick Cudahy 



I had taken advantage of my acquaintance with the 
president of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, Sir Thomas 
Shaughnessy, who was at one time a Milwaukee boy, 
with whom I was fairly well acquainted. I wired him 
to Montreal, setting forth that I was in Vancouver, 
thinking of buying some timber, asking him, as they say, 
*'to put me next" to some good man. Fie was in Europe 
at the time, but his head man wired me, referring me to 
Mr, Marpole, the executive head of their land depart- 
ment. Mr. Marpole proved to be quite a pleasant, genial 
gentleman. I had dinner with them at the club, they, in 
turn had dinner with me at the hotel. Mr. Brown sug- 
gested that I buy a couple of lots as a scalp, to pay the 
expenses of my trip. I took him at his word, bought the 
lots, giving him an order at the same time to sell them 
out whenever he could make me five hundred dollars 
profit. This he did inside of a year afterward. 

Brown was quite a story teller, with a bad impedi- 
men in his speech, a great fellow for high balls and fancy 
drinks. One of his favorites was a Mamie Taylor, and 
you would be with him but a very short time when he 
would propose a Mamie Taylor. He had quite a col- 
lection of curios and things which he brought back from 
China, when he was there for the C. P. R. My wife 
and daughter went up to his house to see them, but I 
never was very much of a hand for curios, so did not 
accompany them. We talked timber quite a bit, but I 
did not trade on any. 

From Vancouver we took the Canadian Pacific Road 
home. It was quite a pleasant ride, although a little 
early in the season, yet the scenery was grand, and what 



His Life 205 

was lacking in the way of foliage, one could fill in with 
imagination. 

We stopped off at Bamf, and the main hotel not be- 
ing open, w^e put up at a sanitarium which is conducted 
there. We had a letter to the proprietor and he made it 
very pleasant for us. I well remember one of his stories, 
which was, that in that part of the country there were a 
great many young Englishmen, sons of rich men, who 
were sent out there to be gotten rid of. These English- 
men were known as remittance men. One of those re- 
mittance men was in a saloon one day and got to talking 
of different pronunciations made use of by the Ameri- 
cans, and said, "You people say 'can't,' and we say 
cawn't. Then again, you say 'ranch' and we say rawnch. 
I would like to know what is the difference." 

Sitting in the corner of the barroom at the time was 
an Irish lawyer, a fellow who was quite bright, but like 
a great many others, was something of a booze fighter. 
On this particular occasion he was recovering from the 
effects of a booze, rubbing his eyes and yawning, when 
he heard our young Englishman ask the question. He 
looked up sleepily, and said, "Why, you damn fool, that's 
easy, a ranch pays and a raw'nch don't." 

Bamf is a very largely advertised place. Some com- 
pare it with our Yellowstone Park, but I could not see 
anything there to warrant the comparison. 

From Bamf we took the train to Winnipeg and put 
up at the principal hotel, which is owned by the C.P.R. 
Winnipeg is a thriving city, in the heart of the Canadian 
wheat fields, and certainly has a great future. From 
here we took the train for home, after a very pleasant 



206 Patrick Cudahy 

visit, and realizing all that I anticipated from my old 
friend Mr. Plankinton's speech about Puget Sound. 

When I returned home the enterprising newspaper 
reporter was after me to find out what I had to say, and 
the following is a copy of his report. 

SAYS WEST IS GOLDEN. 



Patrick Cudahy's View after 

Trip to Seattle. 

To Young Men with Brains. 

His Advice is to Go West and Grasp 

Opportunities Found on 

Every Side. 



"I have heard a great deal about hard times, but I 
did not see any signs of them in the state of Washing- 
ton or British Columbia," remarked Patrick Cudahy, 
head of the Cudahy Brothers Packing Company, on 
his return from a four weeks' tour of the far west 
yesterday. Mr. Cudahy was accompanied by Mrs. 
Cudahy and their daughter, Mrs. Dahlman. 

Mr. Cudahy came back from the west full of praise 
for what he saw and heard. He believes that the west 
is the place for young men of brains and enterprise. 

Greatly Impressed by Seattle. 

"When I was quite a young man I remember hearing 
John Plankinton talk of the possibilities of the country 
bordering on Puget Sound, and I have had it in mind 
for years to visit that part of the country," he said. 
'T was well rewarded for my trip, I assure you. It 
beats going to a health resort and sitting around 



His Life 207 

listening to a band and hearing other fellows tell 
about their ills, all hollow. I have heard a great deal 
about the big things they are doing out there, but 
really I found that they have gone way beyond my 
anticipations in many directions. 

"Seattle especially impressed me. I think in a 
very few years they will have a wonderful city there. 
It is a great city today, but in time I believe it will be 
to the Pacific ocean what New York is to the Atlantic. 
I never heard so much talk about money in my life as 
I did in Seattle. To hear the good citizens of Seattle 
talk you would think that a new crop of money is 
reaped after every rain — and it rains every day. 

Vancouver a Thriving City. 

"All the cities of Washington are pushing forward 
rapidly and soon will be factors in the commercial life 
of the country. Spokane has a wonderful river run- 
ning right through the center of the city, which has 
power enough going to waste to run the mills of the 
whole state. In time, I have no doubt this river will 
be harnessed and made useful for manufacturing 
purposes. 

"British Columbia also is making rapid strides for- 
ward, I observed. Vancouver is a thriving city al- 
ready, and every day seems to mark the beginning of 
some new enterprise. We were handsomely enter- 
tained while in Vancouver by Mr. Marpole, the repre- 
sentative of the Canadian Pacific Railroad in Van- 
couver. I suppose he was extra kind to us because 
we came from the birthplace and former home of 
Sir Thomas Shaughnessy, the president of the road. 



208 Patrick Cudahy 



I was greatly impressed with Vancouver's future, and 
I bought three city lots in the residence portion of the 
city. I was told that in a short time the increase in 
value of these lots will pay for our trip. 

Americans Easy to Spot. 

"Everywhere you go in the west, both on our side 
and on the Canadian side of the border, you will find 
the people up and doing all the time. There are a 
great many Americans in Canada, and, oddly enough, 
you can spot them as soon as you see them. There is 
something about an American, even when he is in 
overalls, that distinguishes him wherever he goes. 
These hustling young Americans are making that 
country what it is, and if there were more of them in 
Vancouver I think that city would give Seattle a hard 
tussle for supremacy. 

"But Seattle always will be the big city of that 
country. They have the right spirit out there. By 
the way, there is a good-sized colony of Milwaukee 
and Wisconsin people out there, and they all seem to 
be prospering." 

May I2th, 1908. 

Although I did not purchase any timber while on 
my trip, the fever was still on. I got in touch with a 
Mr. May of Seattle, who was formerly assistant land 
commissioner with the Wisconsin Central Road, and 
after making full inquiry as to Mr. May's honesty, 
ability, etc., I corresponded with him about the pur- 
chase of some timber land. He had quite a fine tract, 
located on Campbell Lake and River, on Vancouver 
Island, B. C. It was a crown granted tract, so I could 



His Life 209 

purchase the fee in it and own it outright. After 
thorough investigation and satisfying myself that the 
proposition was a good one, I visited Seattle the fol- 
lowing October. Before going out I made inquiry 
through a banker, as to Mr. May's financial standing 
and learned that he was worth about fifteen thousand 
dollars in cash. 

Of course, purchasing timber was a new one for 
me, and it required a great deal of assurance to make 
me feel that I was doing the proper thing. After 
meeting Mr. May in Seattle, I hesitated and talked 
about going home without making the purchase. He 
was very enthusiastic and in order to test him, I 
offered him an eighth interest in the tract, proposing 
to take ten thousand dollars in cash and his commis- 
sion, which was equal to ten more, for the share of 
one-eighth. This proposition he accepted on the spot. 
This convinced me that, at least so far as Mr. May 
was concerned, he was sincere and honest, and we 
then and there made the purchase of the land, which 
we are still in possession of, and I think it will prove 
quite a profitable investment. The tract contains 
seventy-six hundred acres, estimated three hundred 
million feet of standing timber. We have had several 
inquiries for it since, but not being anxious to sell it, 
have put the price at a prohibitive figure. 

So much for Puget Sound. 



CHAPTER X. 

Now let us go out to our farm at Hartland. My 
experience with farming is a good deal the same as 
the experience every city farmer gets. I once heard 
a story told about Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. It 
seems Mr. Beecher had a salary of twenty-five thou- 
sand dollars a year and some one asked him how he 
succeeded in spending such a large salary. His reply 
was, "Do you not know that I own a farm in the 
country?" 

Another story is told about a city farmer inviting 
some of his city friends out for a day and when it came 
to partake of some refreshments, asked his guests 
whether they would have milk or champagne, say- 
ing, "They are equally as expensive." 

I have spent a good deal of money in fixing up my 
country place, but I have had a good deal of pleasure 
out of it also. When I bought it, there was no porch 
on the house, and I spent about twenty-five hundred 
dollars making a porch, running all around the front 
of the house, length of about fifty feet by twelve feet 
in width. I also moved the barn a distance from the 
house, built a new cow stable under it, put up a large 
hennery and horse stables. Started in with four 
animals to build up a herd of brown Swiss cattle. I 
now have twenty-two, as fine a herd as you can see 
anywhere. I also have twelve different kinds of 

211 



212 Patrick Cudahy 



chickens, the Golden Polish, White Crested Black 
Polish, White Faced Black Spanish, Speckled Ham- 
burgs, Blue Andalusians, Orpingtons, and others. 

I also have about an acre enclosed as a deer park, 
with a couple of deer in it. Planted a large number 
of ornamental shrubs, plants, and trees, etc. Named 
my farm "Kill Kare," for it is a good place to run 
away to and loaf, and forget all care and troubles. 

The only disagreeable part of the country home is 
the getting of female help out there. My wife is such 
a stickler for having things right, that it always makes 
her nervous when we go in the country, if the help is 
of the inferior kind. 

Last summer she became so nervous that I found 
it necessary to force her into an European trip. But 
then, there was another cause for her nervousness, as 
well as her household affairs, for her mother and 
father as well as her sister all died within a little over 
a year. She felt her sister's death very keenly. I 
thought the only thing to do was to get her away 
from home surroundings and distract her mind. She 
objected very strenuously to going, but I succeeded in 
persuading an old friend and companion of hers, a 
lady who was also a teacher when my wife was a 
teacher, to go with her. 

They sailed from New York on the sixth of 
August on the Baltic, arriving in Queenstown about 
eight days later. Unfortunately the weather was wet 
and rainy. They went from Ireland to Scotland, from 
there to England, England to Holland, then to Ger- 
many, Italy, Switzerland, and Paris. 



His Life 213 

Arrangements had been made for my daughter 
Helen to go with a number of other girls to a school 
of travel in Paris. She was booked to sail with her 
party October 4th, on the steamer New Amsterdam. 

I had the blues the most of the time that my wife 
was away. I whistled and sang and did what I could 
to keep up good cheer, but there was always a void, 
and something missing, so I made up my mind to go 
over with Helen and bring back my old sweetheart. 

We reached Boulogne October twenty-second. We 
first pulled in to Plymouth to allow a number of 
passengers to disembark. There we got an English 
paper giving account of a railroad strike in France. 
It was written up in about as sensational a style as 
American reporters are noted for. Almost everybody 
on board had a paper, reading the sensational news, 
and everybody became excited, as any disturbance 
in France is always associated with the French 
Revolution. 

It was a question with a great many of us whether 
to disembark at Boulogne or go on to Rotterdam, but 
we finally received a wireless, stating that there 
would be a special train at Boulogne, to take us 
through to Paris, so we got off early in the morning, 
with fear and trembling, expecting to have the car 
windows smashed, several bullets shot through the 
cars, etc. About eight o'clock we boarded the train 
and went through to Paris, arriving there at eleven 
thirty, without ever seeing a striker. 

I went straight to the Hotel DeLathina, where I 
found mv old sweetheart, with her companion, wait- 



214 Patrick Cudahy 



ing for me. You may be sure the meeting was a 
happy one, for I was very much pleased to see quite 
an improvement in her looks, as well as her nervous 
condition. We sat together for hours chatting, she 
telling me her experiences and I telling her mine. 

I remained in Paris about a week. We visited 
different places of interest. Then we went to Amster- 
dam, Holland, took a boat ride out to the Island of 
Markham, where the people live now the same as 
those who lived there two hundred years ago. It is 
said that they seldom, if ever, leave the island, marry- 
ing among themselves, and the effect of this is shown 
to a marked degree on the people, as they are more or 
less dwarfed and unintelligent looking. 

From Amsterdam we went to the Hague, visiting 
the Peace Palace, in the woods. This woods, that I 
speak of, is a large natural forest, right within the 
city, of mostly beech trees. It certainly was a great 
treat to drive through it. From there we went back 
to the city, looked the Carnegie Peace Palace over, 
which is now in the course of erection, and which 
promises to be a very pretentious building. 

Next day I went to Brussels to visit the World's 
Fair and my wife went on to Antwerp. The follow- 
ing day we both boarded the steamer Lapland, at 
Antwerp, for home. 

The Lapland is a new steamer and the accomoda- 
tions were everything anyone could desire, and best 
of all, my wife was a good sailor all the way home. 
We met quite a few nice interesting people and en- 
joyed the trip very much. 

I was just thirty-two days away from my office 
and enjoyed every hour of the time. Presume this 



His Life 215 

can be accounted for in a measure by the fact that I 
was anticipating the pleasure of meeting- my wife, 
while going over, and having her with me when I was 
coming back. 

I certainly was a blue grass widower while my 
wife was away. My daughters did all in their power 
to make it pleasant for me; but it made no difference, 
I could not be happy. I wrote her about six letters a 
week while she was gone, and received about as many 
in return. 

During my lonesome moments, in order to drive 
off the blues, I would take to composing some sort of 
rhymes, which applied directly to her. The follow- 
ing is a sample of some of my letters, as well as the 
rhymes. 

Thursday, August 4th, 1910. 
Dear Annie : 

I know that you feel that I have been a little harsh 
with you in forcing you to make this trip, but if you stop 
to think, you will plainly understand that I am going to 
be the loser, as I will be at home without my old com- 
panion. Of course, I will have the remainder of the 
family with me, but no matter how many there are at 
home, while you are away, it is hard for me to keep from 
falling into a spell of the blues. 

You will have the best end of it, for you will be 
traveling about seeing sights and having something to 
distract you all the time. 

My reason for writing this letter is that you seem to 
feel that I was rather too much of a boss in forcing you 
off against your will, so I hope that you will look at the 
matter in the proper light and appreciate my position, as 
you should know that I am the one who is making the 
sacrifice, and not you. 

Your loving husband. 



216 Patrick Cudahy 



To the Steamship Baltic. 

Aug. 4th, 1910. 
Dear Annie : 

I have just written and mailed you a letter a few 
hours ago, but since mailing it regret that I did not make 
it a little more cheerful. It was written in one of my 
blue moods. Hope you will not pay any attention to the 
part that refers to our separation, etc. Just pitch right 
in and have a jolly good time and I am going to do the 
same thing. 

I hope to have a nice pleasant trip with Clarence to 
the Pacific Coast and when I get there if I find that the 
trip into the timber land is going to be too much hardship, 
I will cut it out and let Clarence take it alone. 

I was thinking that it would not be a bad idea if one 
of you were to don male attire, let one be a man, but I 
suppose that the lack of a beard or whiskers could not be 
overcome. Then again, the captain might have suspi- 
cions that you were a second Crippen. Anyhow cut up 
and have all the fun you possibly can. 

Your affectionate husband, 

To the Steamship Baltic. 

August 15th, 1910. 
Dear Old Girl : 

Although you cabled your arrival, I did not receive 
the cable until I came to the office this morning and I 
noticed by the Record Herald yesterday that the Baltic 
arrived, I presume Saturday evening. 

After anxiously waiting for your cable I grew impa- 
tient about five o'clock and cabled you tlie following: 
"Cudahy, Imperial Hotel, Cork, Ireland, No cable, are 
you well?" Of course, I was unnecessarily alarmed, but 
everything I have in the world was in Cork, Ireland, at 
that time and was a little bit anxious to hear from you. 
Now I presume I have put you to the unnecessary ex- 
pense of cabling again, or will you take it for granted, 
like a sensible woman, that your cable wdll turn up all 
right? 

We had quite a pleasant day at Pine Lake yesterday. 
Waldemar and Irene were out, and, although Waldemar 



His Life 217 

and his brother Henry were beaten at the final game of 
tennis, he was still in his usual good spirits. We played 
croquet and fought over the game as usual. At night we 
played bridge, and before we got through we might be 
classed with the sporting element, stakes were as high as 
a dollar a corner. 

I had one letter from C. J. in which he was up in the 
air in anticipation of the fine time he would have with 
Mr. May around a campfire out in the forest. 

Jo is doing quite well as a housekeeper. The cook' 
seems to improve, and little Dutchy has gotten to be quite 
a friend of mine, yet you need not become jealous when 
you read this. 

We had some little rain yesterday with a prospect of 
more today, so that all hopes of a good corn crop have 
not vanished yet. 

I enclose you a letter from Mr. Frederick Vogel as 
well as his card and you may do as you see fit about visit- 
ing the resort, although I should judge it would be a 
very pleasant place to spend a week or ten days. 

With kind regards to Mrs. B., I am. 

Your affectionate husband, 

Thursday, Aug. 18th, 1910. 
Dear Old Girl : 

I am at the office this morning at the same old grind, 
although I have been treating myself to quite a few days 
in the country of late. Stayed out three days last week 
and two days so far this week. We had a fine rain and 
everything is looking fresh and green out there. Helen 
had quite a bunch of girls yesterday to lunch. The rest 
of us dined at the Dahlman cottage. I first had an in- 
vitation from Elizabeth ; told her I did not believe I cared 
for any lunch and that I would not come down. Then I 
had a visit from Ann, who, as an inducement, told me 
that they had two kinds of dessert. Of course, that caught 
me. She afterward told one of the girls she just told 
grandpa that so as to get him to come. We had quite a 
nice chicken lunch, and Helen's friends also had a very 
nice time. Michael has been coming out pretty much 



218 Patrick Cudahy 



every evening and we have been playing bridge pretty 
regularly and trying to enjoy ourselves as well as we 
can in your absence. 

My blond at the grill has become discouraged and 
talks of giving up the cafe. 1 had John go to Madison 
and see the other woman, who came to Milwaukee and 
looked it over and was willing to take it. Now the blond 
is undecided as to whether she wants to give it up or not, 
but I think she will, at least I hope so, as I feel almost 
certain she will never make a success of it, as she seems 
to lack the necessary business qualifications. 

Katherine is doing fine. She had a letter from Tom 
in which he stated he did not want me to pay her bill 
and he put it so strongly that I told her that, of course, 
if he felt that way I would withdraw my offer and allow 
him to do so. I can make her a little present of some 
kind later on, if I want to. 

I have not heard anything further from C. J. since he 
went into the woods, but expect to hear from him soon. 

Presume you have been informed of Mrs. August 
Uihlein's death. We also buried my old friend Tom 
Connell today. I went to the church and met your friend 
Jeremiah Ouinn, who was inquiring for you and sound- 
ing your praises to the highest. Think if Mary Ann 
and I were to disappear from this earth, there would 
certainly be a match between Jerry and yourself. 

This about exhausts my news as well as gossip. 

Hope you and Mrs. B. are having a fine old lark. 
Your loving husband, 

August 22d, 1910. 
Dear Old Girl : 

Don't know what kind of weather you are having, but 
if you were at Pine Lake yesterday, there would be some 
exclamations about the heat. We had a temperature of 
about ninety, and the humidity was so thick you could 
cut it. We are promised this kind of weather for an- 
other three or four days, then, according to our weather 
prophet we are to have some pretty cold weather. 

We have decided to leave Kill Kare two weeks from 



His Life 219 

today. Waldemar and Irene spent the week with us, and 
do not know whether it was the weather, but Waldemar's 
temper was put to the test yesterday. We played cro- 
quet and in the evening 1 beat him out of seventy-five 
cents playing bridge. 

Katherine is certainly resting and is looking fine. 

The Beck children have had some little bowel trouble, 
but are over it and feeling all right at the present time. 

On account of Helen going over to that school in 
Paris with the prospect of being away from home for 
about eight months, I thought it best to have her exam- 
ined by a physician and see whether she was sound in 
every respect. I had her down to Holbrook Saturday. 
Went with her myself, and he pronounced her a perfect 
girl in every way. 

Had a letter from Valentine May in which he states 
that he provided C. J. with a good reliable guide, a man 
about forty-five years of age, and then went into the for- 
est with a vievv of hunting and fishing for three weeks. 
It takes C. J. to get about all there is in life, or to con- 
vert one kind of a mission into a more pleasurable one, 
when it suits his purpose. However, it is a nice healthy 
way for a young man to spend his vacation and do not 
suppose it will be so very expensive. 

I am at the office and just received a 'phone message 
from home stating that they had received your postal 
card, in wdiich you stated that you had a very pleasant 
voyage and both of you enjoyed your trip across the 
water very much. They also said that there is a letter 
there waiting for me, which they did not open, fearing 
that there would be some strictly heart to heart secrets 
and which I will read this evening with great pleasure. 

As usual, when I am alone, my old thinker is musing, 
and I give you below one of my effusions. 

Your affectionate husband. 

On the shore of Pine Lake, 

Stood a man, not a fake. 

Thinking of one far o'er the sea, 

Looking and saying, "It's not she, it's not she." 



220 Patrick Cudahy 



He longed, but in vain, 

For his darling again, 

To drive off the blues. 

Which were becoming most huge. 

But said he to himself, 
"I'm a silly old elf, 
For was it not I 
That forced her to fly ?" 

So I must be content. 
And my feelings keep pent. 
I may feel bad enough, 
But I must make a bluff. 

For I know she'll improve. 
Now she's out of a groove. 
And for this I would give 
What life Fve to live. 

So now I will hope. 
She will need no more dope, 
That she'll be back in November, 
And will bring joy to remember. 

August 25th, 1910. 
Dear Annie: 

I think I will rival William Curtis, who writes for 
the Record Herald, after this trip of yours, I do so much 
letter writing. 

We have had a spell of the most disagreeable weather 
that you could imagine — extreme heat with humidity. 

Fearing that Elsie might think we were neglecting 
her, Michael and I stayed in last evening and had dinner 
with them, but August was just starting out for one of 
his trips through the lumber country and was obliged to 
take the boat at eight o'clock, so we did not have much 
of a visit with them. Their house is nice and roomy 
and they seem to enjoy it very much. They have con- 
siderable more room than they had in the other house, 
and I think it is built first class in every respect. The 
only suggestion that I could make, or one improvement 



His Life 221 

for which I think there is room, would be to put it on 
rollers and roll it out to within twenty-five feet of the 
street. That would improve their view very much. 

After spending part of the evening with Elsie we 
retired to 54 Prospect, sat on the porch until ten o'clock 
and then made an attempt to sleep. But the first thing 
I saw when I entered my room was a big black spider 
crawling along on the sheet. I had just taken a Turkish 
bath and one of the attendants showed me a great big sore 
on his leg caused by a spider bite. This was not calcu- 
lated to cause repose. I said to Michael, "Here's a great 
big spider." Michael was in the bath room and looked 
about and saw any number of them and started in slash- 
ing and killing them. The result was that we both 
moved downstairs and abandoned the third floor. 

After nestling down and getting fairly on the way to 
a sleep, Jo entered the house with her latch key, about 
twelve o'clock. She had been to some party given to a 
Bessie Baum. You can imagine how I blessed Bessie 
Baum, when I was disturbed just as I was going to sleep. 
But we had a good thunder storm during the night with 
plenty of rain, which cleared the atmosphere and every- 
body feels better this morning. 

M. C. has been patiently engaged with the John P. 
affair for the last three or four days and I want to say 
that I think he is a wonderful man, to be able to meet 
all sorts of conditions and make the best of the situation. 
I do not think I could be quite so philosophical, and me- 
thinks I can hear you say, "Indeed you could not." 

Every lady 1 speak to about your trip says, "Isn't it 
lovely your wife had an opportunity to go to Europe and 
have a good time by herself." Aunt Josie embraced me 
the other day, when she was at the house, and said I was 
one of the loviest men in the country to allow my wife 
such a good time. And so I hope you are having this 
good time that everybody thinks you are, especiall}'' that 
you are sleeping well, for if you sleep well I know you 
will have a good time. And all you have to do in order 
to sleep well is to do as M. C. does, make the best of all 
conditions. Be a philosopher, throw yourself down on 



222 Patrick Cudahy 

the bed at night, like a lump of clay, just as though you 
did not have a nerve or anything living about you, and 
you are bound to sleep. Ask Mrs. B. if I am not right. 

Your loving husband, 

They are two gay old ladies, 
For they left behind no babies. 
They are otf for a merry prance. 
From Erin's Isle to LaBelle France. 

August 2Gth, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart: 

William Curtis again. The weather man's cold wave 
arrived duly on time and we slept very comfortably un- 
der a couple of good heavy blankets last night. I re- 
mained over night in the city and Michael and I went to 
see "The Sweetest Girl in Paris." Of course, if you 
happened to be in Paris she would not count. We did 
not go together, however. 1 went alone and Michael 
went with a young lady. What do you think of that? 
She is a sister of Ferd. Bartlett's wife, whom you have 
heard the boys call a "peach," so who knows but what 
there might be something doing? A sister of a peach 
may count. 

The play was of the usual high-kicking order, and, 
although the weather w^as quite cold, the girls did not 
wear a great amount of clothes — about the same attire 
that Da\'id Harum reported about the girls that he saw. 
You remember he said that he could cover all the clothes 
they had on with a postage stamp. 

The language I am using here is shocking Miss Burki. 

Presume I had better wind up with another of my 
effusions. Your loving husband, 

We are still at Kill Kare, 
But care will not kill, 
For you are not there. 
My own darling dear. 
No, you are off on a lark. 
And in your eye there's a spark 
Of my former dear Annie, 
Of such there's not many. 



His Life 223 

August 29th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart: 

I stayed home Saturday to loaf, and Michael brought 
me out two letters from you, one of them from Dublin, 
and, judging from the date of the letter you are about 
six days ahead of schedule time. Thought you were not 
going to rush, that you were going to take it easy and 
rest. If I were with you I would be getting all kinds of 
scoldings for traveling fast. However, I presume you 
have some particular reason. 

I was very sorry that you did not have any letters at 
Killarney, but in order to have letters there they would 
have had to be written a day or two after you left, but 
even so, it would have been a pleasure for you to receive 
them. However, we will try to make up in the future 
what we fell short there. 

I judge by the tone of your Dublin letter that you are 
feeling fit, as the Englishmen say, which is encouraging. 

Jo is not getting round shouldered with household 
cares. She is just the same Jo. light-hearted and happy. 
She has Jean McLeod visiting her this week, and Helen 
has Alice Murphy, so you see we still keep alive. Kather- 
ine is still with us, but talks some of going home this 
week Thursday. We have decided to leave the country 
on next Monday. 

John Bannen has arranged to get two good scrub 
women for Jo, so that she will get the house thoroughly 
cleaned and in order. Elsie has secured a good second 
girl and they have a cook in view who has worked nine- 
teen years for the Asmuth family, but they have moved 
into a new home up on Newbury Boulevard, and the girl 
refuses to go out so far, so we think we will secure her. 
She is very highly spoken of, and, of course, the fact that 
she was nineteen years in one place either speaks well for 
the girl or for the family that employed her, or possibly 
for both. 

Your little German Tessie went to Hartland the other 
day and got lost. Sidney waited about an hour and a 
half for her and made up his mind that she must have 
started to walk home, and that he would go along slowly 



224 Patrick Cudahy 



and probably pick her up. But along in the afternoon 
she telephoned and finally came up with one of Witten- 
berg's rigs. She became turned around and could not 
find her way. She certainly will never die with brain 
fever. 

We have been having good rains of late and the coun- 
try looks green and nice again, and the prospects are good 
for a good corn crop, providing frost holds off, but it 
will have to hold off for at least another month for the 
corn made very little headway during the dry weather 
and it is very green now. Of course, we must have corn 
in order to get hogs. As the fellow says, to plant more 
corn to make more hogs, to get more money, to plant 
more to make more hogs. 

I have not seen anything of Mrs. B.'s hub. since you 
left, but presume he is a good boy like myself, behaving 
himself. 

Now I shall have to close with one of my effusions. 
I think I will have to quit the packing business and go 
into literature. 

Your aft"ectionate husband, 

Annie and Mary went off on a spree, 
From Cork to Paris great sights they will see. 
Joseph and Patrick were left at home 
To think and to ponder, all alone, all alone. 
Yet they are both happy in anticipation 
Of their darling dear ones' emancipation 
From household cares, of which they'd plenty, 
And of which we hope they'll return empty. 

(Mary mentioned in this verse is the Christian name of an old 
friend of my wife's, who went with her on her trip, and Joseph 
is her husband.) 

August 30th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart : 

If you could get my letters, one a day in the order 
that they are written, no doubt there would be some pleas- 
ure to you in reading them, but as you will get them all 
in one bunch, presume one letter would be as good as a 
dozen. However, if the reading of the letters is as much 



His Life 225 

pleasure to you as the writing of them is to me, it will 
not be time wasted. 

I have been alone since Sunday night. Michael has 
gone down to Cleveland to look after an apparatus they 
have there, whereby they take the air out of railroad ties 
with the vacuum system and impregnate them with some 
sort of a preservative. We think we might be able to 
make use of it in the way of curing meat, so I had him 
go down and look at it. Expect him back this evening 
or tomorrow morning. 

Have not heard anything from C. J. since he went 
into the forest — three weeks ago — but, of course, I know 
he is all right and enjoying himself, otherwise I would 
hear from Mr. May. 

The apostle of the cowboys and the idol of the rising 
generation, our own Teddy, is out at Cheyenne, whoop- 
ing her up at a wild west show with his fellow cowboys. 
No doubt if C. J. has heard of it he will be there to en- 
joy the fun, but presume on account of being in the 
woods he has not had a paper or mail of any kind. 

We are having a good soaking rain here today and 
everything is recovering fast from the long period of 
drought and heat. 

I had a talk yesterday with my co-conspirator's hus- 
band. He told me that he had a letter from his dear wife 
in which she stated that she and you also w^ere enjoying 
yourselves immensely, which, of course, is the kind of 
new^s we want to get from you. 

The wheels of my poetical bump are not working this 
morning, presume on account of the cold, wet, rainy 
day, so you will have to forego the pleasure of one of 
my effusions. 

Your affectionate husband, 

September 1st, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart: 

We spent last night in the city. Josephine has her 
scrub women hard at work house cleaning, and, as they 
say, you will be able to see your face in the furniture as 
well as the w^alls of the house when you return. 



22t) Patrick Cudahy 

Jo took dinner with her favorite sister, Mrs. Hehn- 
holz. They had quite a dinner party. Among the guests 
were Mr. Frederick Vogel and wife. Helen, Katherine 
and myself took in Mrs. Fiske in Becky Sharpe at the 
Davidson. It was a good many years ago since I saw 
it before, but she seems to grow better as she grows 
older. She had a splendid troupe and the show was one 
of the best I have seen for a long time. Yet, like all good 
shows, it was poorly attended. Nothing seems to take in 
Milwaukee but legs. 

After we get through with our scrubbing, which we 
hope will be tomorrow, we are going back into the coun- 
try to spend Saturday and Sunday. Then it is our house- 
keeper's intention to close up the country home and 
move into the city for good. 

No poetry today. 

Hope you are enjoying yourself. You seem to be 
rather stingy with your letters. Have only had two 
since you landed. 

Your loving husband, 

September 2d, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart: 

Judging from your Dublin letter, I tigured you would 
be ahead of your schedule, so I have been mailing my 
letters to Cologne and have already mailed one to Vienna, 
but in talking with Mr. Baird yesterday he informed me 
that you were going into Scotland and probably will lose 
the time that you have been ahead, so have taken a chance 
in mailing this one also to Vienna. 

Everything is working nicely at home. Josephine 
secured the cook that I wrote you about, who had worked 
nineteen years for Asmuths. If she will work nineteen 
for us, if we happen to be alive, think we will have to 
have soft feed, as we are pretty sure to be minus our 
teeth. You remember what the fellow said in the play, 
when someone inquired about his chum tliat was left be- 
hind in New York State; he supposed his hair and his 
teeth were falling out, which is about what we could 
figure on in case we are in the flesh about that time. 



His Life 227 

I enclose you a few kodak pictures which I took my- 
self. They will probably interest you. 

Michael got home last evening from a trip to Cleve- 
land. Think that his trip was of some benefit in the way 
of information, as well as from a loosening up stand- 
point 

Hope that when I go out to Hartland tomorrow there 
will be some letters for me. H not I fear my poetical 
bump will freeze. 

Your loving husband, 

I 'phoned Joseph, I've no letter. 
Said he, "I'm no better." 
I said, "It's no use to make a fuss, 
For they don't care a cuss. 

You know we're old and gray, 

And not so flip and gay 

As in the g-ood old time. 

When we hooked them on our line. 

We both should also know, 
That they're not so very slow ; 
They may have made a "fluke," 
And are flirting with some duke. 

Tuesday, September 6th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart: 

The cause of the intermission in letter writing was 
a visit to Pine Lake, and if I were to write there I would 
have to do it with a pen and I'm too lazy for that. I 
received your letter that you wrote after being to the 
horse show at Dublin and note that you enjoyed the 
show and have a better opinion of Ireland and the Irish 
people than you ever had before. This, in a measure, 
will be a compensation to me for the money you spend on 
the trip, as you know you have always been an Irish 
knocker. 

I also heard from Mr. Baird, and his good wife writes 
that you are sleeping well and enjoying everything on 
your trip, which is certainly good news. 



228 Patrick Cudahy 



We all, including the Dahlmans, packed up and left 
Kill Kare yesterday. Jo had quite a busy day, and I tell 
you, she's a true daughter of her mother. She's a dirt 
chaser like the Dutch Cleanser. Rugs were ripped up 
and pounded and laid down again and all that sort of 
tomfoolery that you people always go through with when 
you are leaving a place or moving into another one. 

The little park and the whole surroundings out there 
looked so awfully pretty that I hated to leave, yet the 
days are so short that unless one remained there, there 
was not much pleasure in coming and going, and on ac- 
count of my old sweetheart not being there, there was not 
much pleasure spending the days there. I think that as 
a grass bachelor I will be able to put in my time better 
in the city. 

Our own Teddy will be here Wednesday and I have 
seats for Michael and myself, so with one excitement or 
another, think I will be better off in the city. 

I will now close with an effusion from the heart. 

Your loving husband. 

My darling, 'tis of thee. 
Sweetheart across the sea. 
I think of you so deep, 
That I cannot, cannot sleep. 

I think of thee at night. 
While my peepers are closed tight, 
I am thinking in the morning, 
When the peep of day is dawning. 

Now you will say to Mrs. Baird, 
"Well, if you had ever heard, 
This same old fellow snore. 
You'd say those lines do bore. 

To believe him would be folly, 
He's just giving me a jolly." 
She'll say, 'T think you're right." 
Then you'll say, "Good night." 



His Life 229 

September 7th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart : 

As per my latest effusion, you are ever in my mind, so 
in order to ease my mind I am obliged to write a letter. 

The weather here is beautiful the last couple of days, 
bright sunshine after plenty of rain. Corn crop going 
to be a bumper. 

In my letter of yesterday I forgot to mention that we 
were honored with Father Keyser at dinner with us on 
Sunday. You need not give me credit for inviting him, 
for he invited himself. Jo had but one girl. Little 
Dutchy left us the week before we moved in, but I was 
equal to the occasion and had the Dahlmans come and 
dine with us. That gave us Mrs. Sullivan as a table 
waiter, so we were all right. We had a very nice visit — 
talked horse and religion. 

Hope you are sailing around in good shape and are 
happy and sleeping well. 

Your affectionate husband. 

It's three weeks and some more 
Since a drink I had asthore. 
Yes, I made a resolution, 
And it will not be broken 
Until again I meet my mate ; 
But when she arrives in state, 
I may take a glass of rum 
Just to have a little fun. 

September 8th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart : 

Not very much to write about. Things are going on 
very nicely at home. Josephine has three which seem 
like very good girls, and things are moving along very 
smoothly. 

I have a very nice letter from Mary this morning 
thanking me for favors at Pine Lake during the summer. 
Louis also spoke his piece when we were leaving there. 

Our own Teddy stirred up the animals in Chicago 
last night in good shape. Refused to attend the banquet 



230 Patrick Cudahy 



if Lorimer was present, so, of course, he was not, and 
Teddy gave them a good sermon on fraudulent politics, 
etc. 

Do not believe I mentioned in any of my letters that 
our old friend Jerry Connors died a week or so ago. The 
papers gave his age as eighty-six. I did not know of his 
death until after the funeral. 

We appreciate your letters very much when we get 
one of them, but that is not very often, yet if you were 
to answer all the letters you get, you would be likely to 
get writers' cramp, so we will have to excuse you. 

Hope you are having the best kind of a time. 
Your affectionate husband, 

September 9th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart: 

Thought I would try my hand with a few Dooley let- 
ters, as I can furnish you whatever interesting news or 
gossip I may have, as well as some amusement : 

Dear Ould Swateheart : 

'Tis very little I have to write about. The family 
ar-re all well and everything is gomg on all right, so I 
believe I will have to fall back on our ever interesting 
subject, our own Teddy Roosenfelt. Shure and he's just 
returned fr'm his cowby cilibration and a lot av gintle- 
men that belong to some club in Chicago thought it would 
be noice to give a banquet in his honor, and in order that 
there'd be no mishtake, wan av thim wint out a bit to 
meet him and consult him about it, do ye moind, and 
whin he mintioned the subject to Teddy, says T. R., "Is 
Lorimer goin' to be there?" "He has bin invoited," says 
th' man. "Well, thin," says T. R., "if you are going to 
have him there, I'll not go." "Very well," says th' man, 
"Oi'll tell him not to come thin, f'r ye know we must 
have our own T. R." 

And so poor Lorimer, afhter buyin' his ticket and all 
that, was obliged to sthay at home. Did ye iver hear the 
loike? Shure ye remimber th' Bible sthory about the 
fresh guy that took a seat at the head of the table and 
was tould to go away back and sit down at th' other ind, 



His Life 231 

for fear that his bethers moight come in, and that he 
moight have to give way to thim ; that it would be more 
pleasant f'r him to move up than to be obliged to move 
down. Av course, even that was hard enough on th' 
poor fellow, but our own Teddy says, "Out with him. 
Oi'll not ate with him." 

The Lord turned the money changers out av th' tim- 
ple, but our Teddy says, "Lock thim up." And all the 
toime that he's pratchin' in this way, the divil is getting 
fifty thousand dollars a year f "r pushin' a pincil, wroiting 
a few loins f'r a magazine. 

Did ye iver hear the loike av it, me darlin ? The divil 
a wan o' me cares, phwat Teddy does or says, so long 
as 3^our own dear silf is well and happy as Oi meself am 
at presint. Thanks be to Gawd f'r it, so good-bye, dar- 
lin'. May Gawd love ye an' be good to ye all the days of 
yer loife. No more at presint fr'm 

Yer own dear 

Patrick. 

September 12th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart : 

Just two days since my last talk with you, and now 
for a full report of my doings. 

I loafed Saturday forenoon, played eighteen holes of 
golf in the afternoon, and as usual, beat my man, but as 
you would say in Ireland, "Little credit it was to me, for 
he was a poor little "Angashure' — poor little Crandall." 
You know him and so does your partner. I felt almost 
ashamed to be beating him. I played a game yesterday 
and had the same good luck, with a more husky fellow. 

We had no company to dinner yesterday, and C. J. 
deserted us for the Dahlmans and other friends. 

Hope you are having the best kind of a time. 
\''our affectionate husband, 

Monday, September 12th, 1910. 
Dear Old Sweetheart : 

I received your letter on Saturday and note that you 
are having a lot of rain wherever you go. Well, they 



232 Patrick Cudahy 

say rain is good for the complexion, so I hope to see a 
pair of beauties when you return. 

As to going over with Helen. It would give me the 
greatest of pleasure to be able to do so, but the fore part 
of October is rather a critical time in our business and I 
fear I will not be able to go away. However, one never 
can tell. I will at least meet you in New York on your 
return and we can whoop it up there for a day or two. 
Your affectionate husband, 

September 13th, 1910. 
Dear Old Pet : 

Not very much to say. Writing a letter of this kind 
every day is quite a task and it is the attraction of the 
magnet for the needle that causes me to do it. 

A short time ago I saw a criticism in the Chicago 
Record Herald on a book, "How to Keep Fit." The 
name attracted my attention and I wrote for one. It 
seems so interesting as well as useful, I have mailed it to 
you today under separate cover. However, I presume by 
the time it reaches you, you will be so fit that you will 
sling the thing in the basket. 

Everything at home moves on nicely. Jo and Helen 
spent yesterday in Chicago, purchasing some of Helen's 
outfit before she takes her departure. 

Walter Bartlett had supper with the boys last even- 
ing. He seems such a fine fellow that I am anxious to 
have Clarence go back to Cambridge with him. C. J.'s 
excuse is that he has gotten in with a theatrical club down 
there and that if he continues with them it will take a lot 
of his time and upset his work, which, of course, is a good 
excuse. And, on the other hand, should think he could 
very easily quit the club. He is like all young fellows of 
his age — that theatrical business has a great fascination 
for them. 

Probably Madison would be just as well, yet I think 
it would be a great satisfaction for him in future life to 
be a law graduate of Harvard. Of course, as to the 
lawyer part of it, that he has to make himself, and could 
be just as great a lawyer made from a shanty as from a 
great college. 



His Life 233 

I am going to write you another letter with a pencil, 
which will be on the heart to heart order. 
Hope you are having a jolly good time. 

Your loving husband, 

September 15th, 1910. 
Me Darlin' Cushla Machree : 

Yisterdah was Milwaukee day at the Fair and I did 
the kind act by takin' out Josephine's three maids, yer 
own little Sid, or as they called him at Hartland, "Billy 
Bounce," his wife, his kid, Helen and meself — all went 
to the fair togither. Shure and we saw the cows and 
the gintlemen cows and all th' rest of the foine things, 
but th' greatest sight iv all wus the flyin' machine. Shure, 
the man wint up in the air like a bird and flew around 
for full a half hour, right abuve our heads, around and 
around, abuve the thrack, dippin' up and down, like a 
meadow lark, and whin he wus tired uv flyin,' he glided 
down to th' airth, prithier than ever anny lark did. It 
certainly wus a gr-reat sight and wan that set me thinkin' 
that there wus a little more to th' flyin' machine than a 
plaything. 

An' now, for fear that yer might be a' thinkin' that I 
am getting too thick or too faymiliar, as they say, with 
Josephine's girls, I'll have to exshplain to you. Shure, I 
know that ye have a gr-reat deal uv curiosity to know all 
about thim. 

Now, to begin, the girl that's th' laundress and also 
takes care us me room, is a German girl, with brown hair, 
but th' frosty face she has on counteracts th' brown hair. 
Somethin' must have fallen on her whin she wus young, 
or she must have had a gr-reat deal of throuble during 
her young days, or maybe 'twas her mother. At anny 
rate, she seems to have a perpetchul grouch, but Jo says 
she's a good wurker, so av coorse, that's what we want, 
ant not looks. But I'm simply exchplainin' to ye that 
there is no affinity there. 

Now, the girl that waits on th' table is a much better 
looker. She is also a German girl, or I might say, maiden 
lady iv about thirty, but looks younger. She has nice 



234 Patrick Cudahy 



soft eyes, as some would say, meltin' or of the liquid 
kind, a plazing voice, talks a little bit thru her nose. Now, 
if she were the wan that wus takin' care of me r-room, 
instid av the grouchy blond, there might be raisin' for ye 
to suspec' thrul)le, but your daughter Josephine is a good 
dale like yerself, she know better than to be placing anny 
timtashun before me. 

Now, last, but not least by anny means is th' cook. I 
can't tell ye annything about her legs, for av coorse they 
ar-re always cuvered up, but she has as fine a pair av 
hips as ye ever saw on annybody. Her apurn strhing is 
tied well up under her ar-rms and makes her waist look 
very small. She is of the rolly-poly kind, weighin' about 
two hundred pounds, aged about fifty, wnth silvery gray 
hair, rolled up in a rat, like the rist of yees. She's a 
pleasant ould girl, but very shy in her manner and doesn't 
spake very good English. The furst two are Holy Ro- 
mans and the lather is a follower of Luther. 

Now ye have the hishtory of your three maids, which 
I know ye have been longin' to hear. Everything goes 
along fairly well, only that the ould dumplin' in th' kit- 
chen is a little bit slow and is not always on time with 
the meals, but w^hin it is time for me meal I goes and 
bangs the gong on the table in the dinin' ro-room and 
makes all the noise 1 can and in that way I think I'll 
wake up me old rolly-poly, so that she'll be more prompt 
with her meals. 

We had yer ould riverind friend at dinner with us last 
evenin', the Riverind Fayther Seleinger. He wus on his 
way home from the congress at Montreal and shpent the 
evenin' wath us. We gave him your address and probably 
you'll hear from him. 

Now I will close with wan of me famous pomes, 
which it is yer own dear self that inshpires in me. No 
more at prisint from 

Your affectionate husband, 

P. S. — Pardon me for having this letter typewritten, 
but I'm expecting a provision man from Liverpool this 
morning and would not have time to write it with a pen. 



His Life 235 

The poetry was composed after my breakfast this 
morning. 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, 
So it's been with me, by thunder; 
I never knew I loved you so, 
Until that bump had a chance to grow. 

Yes, dear duck, I do love you, 
Because you are so good and true, 
I love your good and kindly face. 
For it helps me in the race. 

I love your happy words of cheer, 
That you jingle in my ear. 
They so help to make me fit 
When I'm almost ready to quit. 

I love you for your gentle care, 
For it saves some wear and tear, 
And in other ways doth serve, 
Yes, it also gives me nerve. 

And I love your kindly smile. 
Which you have on all the while, 
Except on some winter's night 
When things at home do not go right. 

September 22d, 1910. 
Dear Darlin' : 

Whin I arrived home last evenin' I found what I 
supposed wus a lether from you, but on breaking the 
envelope I nearly fell over, so shocked was I to find a 
pitchure of a fine looking venus sitting on the back of a 
wild baist and shure and it's more shocking than the wan 
they put clothes on down in Boston. 

Ye ar're takin' gr-reat chances to be sindin' such pit- 
chures to yer husband and he at home all alone without a 
wife, and it's daymoralized yersilf must be to be doin' 
such things. 

I know by th' writin' on the back of this shame-faced 
card that you ar-re goin' to Oberamergau to see the 
gr-reat play. I hope it will do the two of ye some good, 



23G Patrick Cudahy 



f'r afther lookin' at the card, I am shiire yon need some- 
thin' rehgion to schweeten yer minds. 

The card has also convinced me that ye need lookin' 
afther, so I have decided to take passage on the same 
steamer that Helen will go over on and bring ye home 
with me, for if I were to leave ye there very much longer 
'tis to run off with some Frinch jude you would be doin'. 

I b'lieve we stop at Boulogne and I suppose that's 
w'here Helen will land with her taecher. As to mesilf, I 
may go on to Rotherdam and take a look at the Dutch 
girls and a bit av th' country ar-round before I go to 
Paris, as we have about tin days afther we land and I 
might as well see a bit of the counthrie before I settle 
down. 

We ar-re having the finest kind of weather here and 
'tis sorry 1 am to leave the nice weather, but av coorse, 
the gr-reat attracktion of me life is across the weather 
now and nothing can hould me back fr'm crossing over 
to ye. 

The husband of my co-conshpirator was talkin' with 
me over the 'phone last evenin' and gave a very good re- 
port of the both of ye. Said you were sleepin' sivin to 
aight hours every night, which I hope is thrue. 

No more at prisint from 

Yer own schwateheart, 

FINALE 

They first did land on the Isle of Saints, 
But it was too wet to spread their paint; 
They prayed the Lord to stop the rain, 
But it did rain, and rain again. 

They then crossed over to the land of the Scot, 
Where some w^ear pants and some do not. 
Where men wear feathers in their caps, 
But a mon's a mon for a' that. 

Next they go to John Bull's land. 
And take a stroll upon the Strand; 
This is the country where the letter H, 
If used at all it's in the wrong place. 



His Life 237 

From here we sail to where the tuh"ps grow, 

Oh, that word doth tickle so ; 

Two lips are nice, but two pair are nicer, 

And when young, and meet, then call the splicer. 

Then on we go to the Kaiser's land. 
He does not order, but commands; 
He claims he rules by right divine. 
I'm glad I'm not one of his kine. 

From here we skip to poor Italy, 
Where there is plenty room for pity. 
Once where were fine palaces, now^ are shops. 
For the people there have the dry rot. 

You'll say, "They still have got the sky," 
'Tis true, but I'll tell you the reason why ; 
The sun's so high and far, far away 
That it's not in their power to lead it astray. 

Now we're off to fair Switzerland. 
Where the scenery is so great and grand. 
And all the people are content. 
Because their lot they do not repent. 

From here we go to the city of sin ; 

If you've plenty of money, please walk in. 

Where the men are foppish and the women do 

^ guile. 
It's not a good place to stay a long w'hile. 

So please get a move on, and hurry home. 
Where you left all alone, all alone, 
Two sad, but young old men. 
Oh then! Oh then! "and Oh then! 



CHAPTER XL 

I am now approaching my sixty-second year and it 
has been a pleasure for me to go over my life and put 
this matter together. 

Fifty years ago I was a barefooted boy, running 
around like a great many others, stubbing my toes 
against the stones, not very particular about what I 
had to eat or what I had to wear. Now I am presi- 
dent of three different corporations, representing a 
total of about three and a quarter millions of dollars, 
of which I own about eighty per cent. Am also 
director in one of the largest banks in Milwaukee, as 
well as a trust company, and have refused an invita- 
tion to be director in another bank. 

Our company is borrowing money today at one- 
half of one per cent less than what the largest con- 
cerns in Chicago can borrow money for, and I believe, 
if I cared to do so, I could borrow three million dol- 
lars on my own paper. 

I belong to the principal club in the city, namely, 
the Milwaukee Club, also to the Country Club, Blue 
Mound Club and Town Club. 

Speaking of clubs, I want to tell you a good club 
story. Along about 1888, a number of congenial fel- 
lows, myself among the number, organized a card 
club, known as the Pedro Club. They were all mar- 
ried men, good respectable business men. We went 

239 



240 Patrick Cudahy 

from house to house, al})habetically. The rule was 
that we were to begin playing at eight o'clock in the 
evening and stop at ten. Our stakes were twenty-five 
cents a game. Now and then some fellow would be 
in hard luck and be out a dollar or so and would beg 
for just one more game, and as is always the case, it 
did not take very much persuasion to get the crowd 
to stay awhile longer. 

One night we had played to the time limit, at a 
Mr. A.'s house, one of the best fellows in the bunch. 
Another old sober sides and myself refused to con- 
tinue playing any longer. We both put on our coats 
and left, while the other six settled down to a sociable 
game of poker. As soon as we reached the sidewalk 
we met a Hibernian policeman. I don't know what in 
the world prompted me to do it, but I tapped the 
green cop on the shoulder, saying, "You are just the 
man I have been looking for. There is a stiff game 
going on in that house," pointing to the house we had 
just left, "and I want you to come right in with me 
and pull the crowd." 

I spoke sort of strong and earnest like and must 
have hypnotized the fellow some, for without saying 
a word he came right into the house with us. There 
was one good fellow in the bunch, a Mr. C, who has 
since crossed the river, and I hope is with the angels. 
He was a fellow we all delighted to tease, so I pointed 
him out to my fool cop, saying, "That old fellow there 
is the leader of the gang, take him along." The cop 
looked at me sort of bewildered like and said, "There 
is no mone}' or chips up, I cannot arrest those men." 

One of the crowd, who always drank lemonade, 



His Life 241 

looked at me with a smile and said, "Well, Cudahy, 
where in hell did 3^011 get him?" 

Mr. Q. took the fellow out to the table where he 
had a spread for the boys, and gave him a drink and 
sent him off about his business. 

My friend and I made for the door and left. The 
joke was such a good one that I laughed every time I 
thought of it for a month afterward. And to add to 
the run, I called up a couple of the fellows next day 
on the telephone and had them call up our old friend, 
Mr. C, and tell him that they had heard that the cop 
had reported the matter to the chief in the presence 
of a newspaper man ; that the chief was serious about 
it and was going to investigate to the fullest extent. 
Along late in the afternoon Mr. C. called me up and 
said, "That's a nice scrape you got us into last night." 
"Why, what's the matter?" I asked. "Matter," said 

he, "there's a whole lot the matter. That d fool 

of a policeman went and reported the whole affair to 
the chief in the presence of a newspaper man and it is 
coming out in the papers and is going to be a nasty 
mess." It was hard for me to keep from laughing in 
the 'phone, but I succeeded and told him it was too 
bad, that I would see if I could not suppress it. That 
evening the devil seemed to be still in me, so I sat 
down and wrote a Jesuit priest, a jolly fellow, who 
was stationed in Chicago, formerly rector of the col- 
lege in Milwaukee, telling him of the joke, requesting 
him to write Mr. C, that he had learned with surprise 
of his narrow escape from arrest for gambling. This 
the priest did, and the next time I met Mr. C. he was 
furious and said, "By cracky, I will sue you for de- 
faming my character." 



243 Patrick Cudahy 

This ended one of the funniest experiences I ever 
had. It was so absurd for the poHceman to enter the 
private house of one of the most respectable men in 
Milwaukee, and everything- worked so well all the 
way through that it amused me every time I thought 
of it for a long time afterward. 

I have done a little as I went along, in the way of 
charity, helping the different institutions from time to 
time. One action, worthy of mention, is the donating 
of about four acres of land and the building, for a 
fresh air home for Catholic babies, or foundlings. The 
Sisters named the home, in honor of my wife, St. 
Ann's Home, her name being Ann. This, in all, was 
an expenditure of about fifteen thousand dollars. 

I am now going to tell you about some charity 
work in which I took an active part. Along in the 
eighties, St. Rose's Orphan Asylum was in charge of 
a good hearted generous Sister. She liked to feed and 
clothe the children well and as a rule would run be- 
hind in finances and every now and then be obliged to 
appeal to the people to help her out, which was gen- 
erally done by means of a fair, where money was 
raised by the selling of chances, voting contests, 
etc., etc. 

One of the women in charge singled me out as a 
victim or candidate for a writing desk to be voted for. 
My opponent was a brother of one of the priests and 
on that account it was up to his friends to see that he 
got the desk. When Mrs. D., she was the wife of my 
old friend D., the contractor about whom I have been 
telling you, came to see me about using my name, I 
put on the frostiest face I could, and positively re- 



His Life 243 

fused to allow my name to be used. But she winked 
her eye at me and went ahead with her scheme just 
the same. 

A younger brother of mine became interested, 
went among our friends, and succeeded in getting 
them interested. The result was I won the desk. The 
contest netted the orphans about two thousand dol- 
lars. The fair w'as quite a success, but it was not 
more than a couple of years until the sister was broke 
again, so a few of us got together, held a meeting and 
decided on another fair, as well as soliciting private 
subscriptions among business men. A Mr. C. and 
myself took charge of the subscription list. I con- 
ceived a scheme that worked like a charm. I had a 
sheet for each industry. I headed one of them myself 
with two hundred dollars. Then went to a banker 
whom I felt I could work pretty well. He went down 
for two hundred more. He came with me to another 
banker who happened to be an Episcopalian and 
something of a churchman himself. He had just been 
out on some such mission himself and as soon as we 
broached the subject he went up in the air, saying, 
"Catholics are always begging and never give any- 
thing to anybody else," which was true. One of his 
junior partners, also an Episcopalian, had listened, 
and spoke up, "The Catholics are all right. They do 
more charity than any other denomination. Put me 
down for twenty-five dollars." This brought the old 
man to time and he gave us twenty-five. 

My scheme of having a sheet for each line of busi- 
ness, and selecting the most generous one to head 
the list, worked fine. We had a list for trunk makers. I 



244 Patrick Cudahy 



got a young man who had formerly been an employee 
for one of the oldest concerns in the city, to head the 
list. He also went down for two hundred. We went 
next to his old employer. This man was a good man, 
always did his share, but had a habit of scolding about 
so much before he would give. So just before we en- 
tered his office, I said to my partner, "Don't become 
provoked, no matter what Mr. R. says, for we are 
likely to come in for a good tongue thrashing here." 
He replied, "That's all right, I know him as well as you 
do," and as he said it he spied a long hickory club, 
with a string run through the end of it, something hke 
the policemen's clubs, hanging on a post outside tht 
door. "Cracky," says he, "I am going to hide this 
thing before we got in." So he took it down and hid 
it behind some boxes. Knowing the blustering way 
of the man we were to call on, it was very funnv. 

We went in, and after a little preliminary talk, got 
down to business. W^e stuck his former bookkeeper's 
subscription of two hundred under his nose. He 
went ofi. in a tantrum, made the air blue for a little 
while, but finally cooled down and gave us a nice sub- 
scription. 

We established a police force in the fair. Had 
handsome young ladies for policemen, and whenever 
a fellow came in that was suspected of having money, 
he was arrested and fined a good sized sum. The 
fair was a great success. I think something like ten 
thousand dollars w^as netted. But I tell you it was a 
costly one for me, not only what I spent at the fair, 
but for years afterward I had to pay back to those I 
called upon when on niy begging expedition, for some 
such purpose when they had their turn at it. 



His Life 245 

As I have already stated in this story, my educa- 
tion was somewhat Hmited, as it was more a question 
of finding- employment than education, when I was 
young. When I got to be about sixteen years old, I 
began to realize that a certain amount of education 
was absolutely necessary, particularly in mathematics. 
I felt that if I could figure well, I could manage to 
get along. Made known this fact to the teacher of 
the school I was then attending, a Miss Maybrick, 
and she took me in charge and I think I learned more 
in that term than I did in two or three terms prior to 
that. 

This matter of education anyhow, is what we see, 
and what we pick up. as we go along. We are learn- 
ing from one another all the time. As I heard a 
gentleman once say to a party who was going off on a 
junketing trip for the purpose of getting some ex- 
perience in his line. His friend said, "Steal all you 
can, but steal with your eyes," and this has been my 
motto all through life. I have been stealing all the 
time, with my ears and my eyes. 

I presume that I would come imder the head of 
self-made man, but after the experience I had with a 
certain dapper young school ma'am, who wore a very 
intellectual looking pair of spectacles, and wdio was 
spending a few weeks with us at our home at Elm 
Grove, I am wary of using the term "self-made man." 
One evening while we were sitting on the porch, I 
happened to mention a little something in a boasting 
way about myself, and she remarked that self-made 
men were all right, but the only trouble with them was, 
that most of them thought too much of their maker. 



246 Patrick Cudahy 

This was a body blow and I have always been shy in 
making use of the expression ever since. 

Talking about education reminds me of an incident 
worth mentioning. Some years ago, one of my 
nephews, with a couple of young men friends came to 
visit me. It was in the early summer and the country 
was at its best. I had a nice pair of short tailed 
horses, so I hitched them up to an open country 
wagon, and took the boys out for a ride, to one of the 
lakes. 

On the way out I asked, "What kind of a tree is 
that, boys?" pointing to a hard maple. If one of them 
attempted an answer, it would be a pure guess and he 
was as likely to call the tree a willow as anything else. 
It was the same way with the crops growing in the 
fields. They did not know barley from wheat, nor 
timothy hay from rye. Yet those young men were 
supposed to be educated, and so far as book educa- 
tion goes, they were, but they lacked the education 
of the world, the education that counts. 

One of our leading manufacturers in Chicago has 
taken the stand that college or university education 
is a drawback to young men, and when a man attends 
a theater where a lot of those rah rah chaps are 
together in a mob, making themselves appear like so 
many young savages, one is inclined to think that our 
Chicago man is about right. 

Then again, go into a restaurant with one of them. 
He is not going to eat a meal, he is going to "feed his 
face." He will not talk plain English and ask the 
waiter for a small cup of coffee. He tells him to bring 
a demi-tasse. He has his pants rolled up, and when 



His Life 247 

he sits down, pulls them up as to show his fancy 
stockings. He smokes his cigarette and talks the 
latest slang. 

When an old hard head like myself looks on at this 
sort of thing, I feel that it would have been better for 
that boy if he had been at work in some good busi- 
ness office, under the influence of good sensible men, 
during those four years that he has been making a 
monkey of himself. 

Just a word as to my habits. I consider myself a 
temperate man, that is, I always could take a drink or 
two, or leave it alone, as I saw fit. 

In the way of smoking I never was a success. I 
at one time got to sm.oking a cigar or two in the even- 
ing after my evening meal, but found that when I 
smoked two I did not sleep so well as when I smoked 
but one, or none at all, so I cut out smoking entirely. 

I have always kept myself well in hand and had 
absolute control over myself in all lines of dissipation. 
At one time I got to joking with my wife as to how 
cheaply a person could live if he were to set out for 
that purpose, claiming that a man could live on ten 
cents a day. 

She said, "Would like to see you do it." And I 
replied, "I will just show you that I can," .So I pur- 
chased some beans, small piece of pork, some rice and 
some corn meal, total cost of the different articles 
was just two dollars. I had the cook give me pork 
and beans in the morning. I had rice for my lunch at 
noon and corn meal for my "dinner" in the evening. 
Instructed the cook that in case I did not eat all that 
was set before me, she was to give it to me at the next 



248 Patrick Cudahy 

meal. In other words, she was not to waste a morsel 
of it. I kept this up for twenty days, inclusive, with- 
out eating anything else, and in my own way made 
good my bluff, so to speak. 

When I began the experiment I drank nothing but 
hot water, but this was a little bit too much like 
starvation, so I smuggled coffee for my breakfast, 
milk for my dinner and a cup of tea in the evening, 
which was not paid for with my two dollars, and of 
course, this did not include fuel, or house rent, etc. 
Yet, I proved, in a measure, how cheaply a person 
could live, and it was also a satisfaction to me to 
know that I could practice self-denial to that extent. 

The rest of the family sat at the table with me, 
had their beef steak or mutton chops, roast beef or 
spring chicken, while I was swallowing my mush 
with a smile on my face. In fact, a smile was neces- 
sary, otherwise I could not do it. 

Presume if I were placed upon an island with that 
amount of supplies and obliged to live on it for twenty 
days, I would feel terribly abused, but doing it volun- 
tarily, it did not affect me at all. I think that all I 
lost in weight in the twenty days was two pounds and 
felt very much better for the experiment. 

Although my life has been a busy one, yet I gen- 
erally succeeded in leaving my business at the office. 
Never talked shop at home. Occasionally, when my 
brothers and myself got together we had a good pork 
talk, but at home, with my family I very rarely, if 
ever, discussed my business affairs. 

I have quite a taste for reading. Especially do I 
enjoy biographies of some of our great men, prin- 



His Life 249 

cipally Benjamin Franklin. I have always thought 
his life was the best kind of an object lesson for any 
young man to keep before him. 

In the line of stories Dickens always was my 
favorite. I think I have read all of his works, read 
some of them over the second and third time, and en- 
joyed them every time. What I like especially about 
Dickens' works is that one meets his characters every 
day on the street and in every walk of life. I always 
found that what I read in Dickens stayed with me 
much better than any other story. 

On the whole, as well as being a busy man, I think 
I have gotten about as much out of life in the way of 
amusement as most anybody else. I manage to go to 
the theater whenever there is anything good, but un- 
fortunately of late there is never anything very good. 
Formerly, when we had Shakespeare's plays, McCul- 
lough in Virginias was one of my favorites, as well as 
Barrett in Julius Caesar. I remember seeing Booth 
and Barrett play Julius Caesar. I think I shall re- 
member it as long as I live, Booth taking the part of 
Brutus and Barrett the part of Cassius. 

I manage to get away almost every year for a 
short vacation somewhere. Sometimes I go south 
and sometimes across the ocean. 

On one of those vacations I went to the Hot 
Springs, Arkansas. Generally my wife accompanied 
me, but this time she did not come with me. I was all 
alone, but succeeded in getting acquainted with quite 
a few nice people, among them a banker from Okla- 
homa, named Turner. 

He was a cocky old chap, about my own age, who 
had taken the baths regularly for years, knew all the 



250 Patrick Cudahy 



gambling- houses, when they were run wide open. At 
this time they were suppressed, with the exception of 
a back door entrance. Turner, however, had access 
to them all. He took us about, introduced us to the 
proprietors, etc. 

One evening there was a ball given at the Park 
Hotel and Turner proposed going to the ball. In 
order to attend a ball I had to have my evening 
clothes, which I supposed I had stored away in the 
bottom of my. trunk. Hot Springs being a rough and 
tumble place, especially at the Arlington, where I 
stopped, it was the first time I had occasion to don 
my evening clothes. 

The first thing I had to do was to chase down the 
street to get a white necktie. It happened to be a 
legal holiday and only one or two stores were open. 
From one store to another I chased in quest of that 
tie, until I had almost given up. But finally I found 
a store that was open and purchased my tie. Then 
went back to the hotel and proceeded to dress up for 
the evening. Had quite a time getting my collar on, 
collar button would not work. After fuming and 
fussing quite awhile, I got all ready for the coat, but 
lo and behold, when I went to put it on, it was my 
son's coat which my daughter had packed into my 
trunk by mistake, and I could not get into it. 

However, I did the only thing I could do and go to 
the ball, changed back to my business clothes and at- 
tended the ball. Of course, as everybody else had on 
evening clothes, I did not feel just right. 

At this ball there were three particularly dashy, 
well dressed women. One of them caught my eye 



His Life 251 

and I told Turner that if I was to be tlie beauty judge, 
I would pin the blue ribbon on this particular woman. 
It turned out that Turner knew her and went and told 
her what I said, and there was a general laugh all 
around. 

But I felt so awkward in my business suit that I 
only remained at the ball until about eleven o'clock. 
Although I missed some fun, I think I averaged about 
as well as Turner, who remained, did, for we were put 
in the bath next day together and the attendant could 
not furnish ice water enough to satisfy Turner. 

Speaking of this Mr. Turner, I must have made a 
pretty good impression on him, for he has never 
missed a Christmas since, but what he has sent me a 
telegram of greetings. 

I am a kind of an amateur golf player and get a 
little pleasure out of that as well as exercise. My first 
game was on Mackinac Island, Michigan. I was up 
there visiting my oldest brother, and his daughters 
invited me out to the golf ground. Up to that time I 
had never seen a golf ball or club. I threw dowm the 
ball and hit it a swipe, driving it about as far as a 
professional. Walked up to where it lay and hit it 
again. The girls declared, ''Why, Uncle Patrick, you 
are a golf player." 

This litle experience gave me a taste for the game 
and I have played it more or less ever since. Whenever 
any of my bacon friends came from Liverpool, if they 
happened to have any pretentions in golf, I invite 
them out for a game and generally succeed in "putting 
them down," as we say in golf. 

The last one that visited me, a Mr. Jones, was sup- 
posed to be quite a crack player in Liverpool. He 



253 Patrick Cudahy 



and I went out to the Blue Mound Country Club for 
a game and whatever was the matter with the fellow, 
I do not know, for he made a bad mess of it that day. 
I put him five down in eighteen holes. In order to 
let him down easy, when we finished the game, I said, 
"Jones, if you played a little more on this course, I 
think you and I would play about even." He replied, 
true English style, "Ah! I think I would beat you," 
which is characteristic of the English every time. 

I also have a billiard table in my house, and al- 
though not much of a player, get quite a bit of pleas- 
ure when my sons-in-law call on me of an evening. 

In politics I think I would have to be considered 
a mugwump. I inherited my father's politics, which 
was that of a democrat, but was not so much dyed-in- 
the-wool but what I could see merit in a candidate on 
another ticket when there was merit there. 

My first vote was cast for Horace Greeley, who 
was an abolitionist during the war. I also voted for 
Cleveland and for McKinley. In city or local politics 
the man I considered the best man was my man. I 
voted for Tom Brown, republican, for mayor two 
different terms. I did not vote for Rose, who was a 
democrat. 

I never aspired to hold any kind of a public office. 
Did not imagine I would be a success at it if I did. 
Do not think I am made of the kind of material that 
succeeds in politics. The only public office I ever held 
is the one I hold at the present time, being a member 
of the County Park Board, which is an insignificant 
office. 

I have just been appointed by Governor McGovern 



His Life 253 

as a delegate to the Peace Commission that will sit 
between May third and fifth, at Baltimore. 

Being what is known in Chicago as an out of town 
packer, about every time that I visit the Chicago 
Board of Trade, I have pretty much all the com- 
mercial editors or reporters of the different Chicago 
papers after me for interviews. There must be some 
importance attached to what I say to them, for they 
will not allow me to escape any time that I call there. 

Following are a few copies of talks I have given 
them from time to time: 

Expects Higher Prices for Provisions. 

"You may put me down as a crazy bull on pro- 
visions," said Patrick Cudahy of Milwaukee, who was 
in the trade here yesterday. "There is a sensational 
condition developing and we are liable to see higher 
prices during the latter part of this summer and the 
early fall than any man now living ever saw before. 
The Cincinnati Price Current of this week tells the 
story. Editor Murray shows that the consumption of 
meats during the summer of 1908 was 227,000,000 
pounds more than for the summer of 1907. Suppos- 
ing we should have a corresponding increase for the 
summer of 1909 over 1908, where are we going to get 
the stuff? We are beginning the packer's summer 
season with about 20,000,000 pounds less than we had 
on hand a year ago, with a prospect of 1,000,000 less 
hogs for the summer than last year. I base this on 
the fact that our hogs are now about 12 pounds 
lighter than they were a year ago. Twelve pounds 
means twelve days' hogs, and twelve days' hogs 



254 Patrick Cudahy 



means fully 1,000,000 or more that have been drawn 
from the summer supply. Farmers' experience with 
4c hogs and 60c to 80c corn is bound to tell. If the 
consumption increases this summer as it did last, how 
are we going to supply it, and why should we not have 
the increase? It is the history of the trade. It re- 
quires more meat every year to feed the people of the 
world; more people, more meat. 

I think lard is in a specially strong position. The 
world's supply is already about 50,000 tierces short, 
and you know that lard can only be made from hog 
fat nowadays. It would not surprise me to see 15c 
lard next November and meats correspondingly high. 
It looks as though the consuming power of the cities 
has increased faster than the producing power of the 
country. Not along ago 2,000,000 bushels was con- 
sidered a full corn crop; now we need 3,000,000 to fill 
all requirements, and I presume in ten years from 
now it will take 4,000,000 to meet our needs." — 
(Chicago Record-Herald, March 6, 1909.) 

The above article was copied by the Cincinnati 
Price Current, March nth, 1909, with the following 
comments : 

Provision Trade Talk. 

The statement last week by the Price Current 
showing the indicated consumption of swine meats 
during the eight months, March i to November i, has 
attracted some attention. Elsewhere in this issue ap- 
pears some expressions published in the Chicago 
Record-Herald representing an interview with Mr. 
Patrick Cudahy, of Milwaukee, who appears to find 



His Life 255 

basis in the evidences as to production and probable 
consumption of hog products for suggesting- that "We 
are Hable to see higher prices (for hog product) dur- 
ing the latter part of this summer and the early fall 
than any man now living ever saw before." He also 
says: "It would not surprise me to see 15 cents for 
lard next November and meats correspondingly 
high." 

Mr. Cudahy is a manufacturer of hog product, but 
so far as we know is not a speculator. He is a wide- 
awake observer, and likes to find foundation for con- 
structing a forward view of events in the provisions 
trade. In the present instance there appears to be 
reason for regarding his view as one to be accepted 
with some allowance. If prices for hog products are 
to soar to exceptional altitudes there should be ex- 
pected to result a lessening of demand for consump- 
tion. 

(The following is from The Chicago Sunday 
Tribune, September 25, 1910:) 

Patrick Cudahy, the Milwaukee packer, was on the 
floor yesterday, and, as usual, his views on the provision 
situation were eagerly sought by local traders. At the 
present time he is bearish. 

"I think there are several reasons why pork pro- 
ducts should sell lower," said Mr. Cudahy, "the prin- 
cipal reason is that meat eating people of the world, 
since prices have been so high, have learned how to 
economize to the extent of 25 to 30 per cent com- 
pared to when values were normal. We all know 
that the country is full of corn and pigs, and these pigs 



256 Patrick Cudahy 



will soon be fat hogs. January product is selling on 
the basis of 7c hogs, while corn, which we make hogs 
with, is selling on the basis of a 5c hog. To add to 
this, high prices have lost us a large portion of our 
English trade. They are now getting quite a lot of 
stufT from China, Servia, and other countries. I also 
understand there is a good deal of labor trouble in 
England in the shipbuilding and mining industries 
which will curtail their requirements. Then again our 
own political mixup is not tending to help general 
business conditions. It has paid farmers immensely 
to feed hogs at the high prices of a year and a half, 
and it is reasonable to assume farmers will have 
plenty of hogs just as soon as they have time to breed 
them. The lard trade is only fair and generally the 
demand for product is poor. Instead of buyers run- 
ning after us we are running after the buyers." 

(From the Chicago Evening News, February 25, 
1911:) 

Patrick Cudahy, the Milwaukee packer, was a 
visitor on change yesterday. He is still very bearish. 
He says : "Prices for provisions will go much lower 
before things become normal. Hogs are 2c a pound 
higher than what they can be produced for at present 
price of corn. The only reason we are getting more 
of them is because there is such a premium paid for mak- 
ing them heavy. The only thing that is scarce now is the 
light hog to make breakfast bacon with, which in it- 
self tells the story as to what the farmers are doing." 

(From the Chicago Tribune, February 25, 191 1 :) 
"I think prices are going much lower for pro- 
visions," said Patrick Cudahy, the Milwaukee packer. 



His Life 257 

who was a visitor on change yesterday, "The hogs 
are coming awful fat, and the only reason we are not 
getting more of them is that farmers won't part with 
them until they are big and fat. The average weights 
at the present time are 20 to 25 lbs. heavier than a 
year ago, and, as hogs put on about a pound of flesh 
a day, this would indicate that there are twenty days' 
hogs back in the country of last year's weight. The 
packing of the west is approximately 75,000 per day. 
This, you see, would make 1,500,000 hogs that would 
be in the market if farmers were selling as close as in 
other years. I think March will be a big month, as it 
is generally a cleaning up month before farmers begin 
spring work. I believe the west will pack 2,000,000 
more hogs next summer than last year, and that the 
stock of product on hand next October will be 
150,000,000 lbs. more than last October. The hogs 
are too big and too fat, the trade is too poor, too many 
men are idle, for prices to hold anywhere near where 
they are now. Hogs today are 2c a pound higher than 
what they can be made for at the present price of 
com. This is all wrong and has got to be adjusted 
before things are normal again." 

(From the Chicago Record-Herald, February 25, 
1911:) 

"There can be only one logical side to the pro- 
vision market until prices adjust themselves," said 
Patrick Cudahy, who was here from Milwaukee 
yesterday. "Corn is selling in the country at a price 
whereby hogs can be made for less than 5c, and there 
seems to be no shortage of young hogs to feed it to; 



358 Patrick Cudahy 



so until hogs and corn come together there is no sense 
in looking for prices to remain anywhere near where 
they are now. Every packer will tell you that from 
75 to 80 per cent of the hogs that have been 
slaughtered so far this winter were barrows. The 
sows have been held back and bred, which accounts 
for our not having more hogs to slaughter. Those 
sows will come in in April and May and their pigs will 
come as hogs next September and October. Of course, 
muscle and money can do considerable, but it is hard 
work to make water run up hill. You have to be with 
the tide in order to make money and feel good over 
making it. The weather has been good for both 
breeding and fattening and both are progressing well 
in the country. I have a small farm near Milwaukee. 
I bred five sows last October and they now have fifty- 
two pigs, all doing well. These pigs will average 
from 220 to 230 lbs. next September, and I expect to 
sell them at S^/i^c per lb. Why, even our bulls are only 
advising their people to buy for a short turn. Nobody 
thinks of buying the property as an investment. I 
expect to see July and September product easily 2c 
per lb. lower." 

(From the Chicago American, February 25, 191 1 :) 
Cudahy' s Still Bearish on Provision. 

The provision market suffered losses all along the 
line yesterday, with the selling influential in character 
while the buying was quite scattered. 

Patrick Cudahy, the millionaire packer, put in an 
appearance on the Board of Trade yesterday and 
prices melted away not unlike a pound roll of oleo- 



His Life 259 

margarine under an August sun. "Down, down, down 
and down again, for the entire provision list as well 
as hogs," said Mr. Cudahy. "We are not selling the 
usual amount of meats and lard in the United States, 
and the demand will not improve until we are down 
to a level where the working class will consume it. 
We are not selling any meats for export. A further 
2C break in hogs will be seen, as the basis on which 
corn is being sold must be reached. The man who 
puts out short lines of the deferred provision futures 
is certain to reap a profit." 

I am now closing in on my sixty-second year and 
am enjoying unusually good health, and I attribute it 
largely to the fact that I have learned now to be a 
philosopher. I have joined the No Worry Club. I 
find it is worry that kills, not work. 

I have a room in the upper story of my house, 
where I can make as much noise as I want to and not 
disturb the other members, so every morning I get 
out of bed at six-thirty, take a half hour to dress, dur- 
ing which time I sing two or three songs in my own 
way, making considerable noise. I find by doing 
this, in case I should get to thinking about some thing 
or other, it stops my thinker, and puts me in a good 
humor for the day. I also find that if I have had a 
poor night and my head is not quite right, the singmg 
drives the fog away and sets my head right. 

Singing, I think, is a great thing for the health. 
It keeps one from thinking, aids digestion, and helps 
in many ways. If I were a doctor I would prescribe 
it for all my people as a preventative for sickness. 
You cannot get some people to sing unless they can 



260 Patrick Cudahy 

read music. That may be all right when you take your 
friends into consideration, but when you are thinking 
only of yourself, and especially your health, drive dull 
care away, make all the noise you can, even if you 
have to do as I do, go up into an upper room and shut 
the door. 

One of my favorite songs is Tom Moore's "Believe 
Me." Do not know the history of it. Think it must have 
been written for a groom to sing to his bride, a sort of 
serenade. And for that matter, a man can continue to 
sing it to his wife as long as they live. It is sort of a 
declaration of faith and love. I think the lines are about 
as pretty as anything that ever was put together and the 
oftener a man would repeat them, whether talking or 
singing, if he gave them thought, the better husband he 
would be. 

BELIEVE ME 

Believe me if all those endearing young charms, 

Which I gaze on so fondly today, 
Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms. 

Like fairy gifts fading away, 
Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art. 

Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart, 

Would entwine itself fondlier still. 

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own. 

And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear. 
That the ferver and faith of a soul can be known, 

To which time will but make thee more dear; 
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, 

But as truly loves on to the close, 
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, 

The same look which she turned when he rose. 



His Life 261 

I do not want to appear as the Pharisee, simply want 
to be a plain publican, but I can truthfully say that if this 
song was my own composition and I had made it as a 
declaration to my wife, I could not have followed the 
lines that are laid down by it any closer than what I have 
ever since we have been married. 

I have always enjoyed looking at good-looking wo- 
men, the same as I would enjoy looking at fine paintings. 
I take an interest in their hats, hobble skirts, and all the 
varieties of the styles. I enjoy chatting with the ladies, 
and whenever I succeed in entertaining a handsome wo- 
man I feel quite flattered and think I am something of 
an It. But any such thing as a handsome woman, no 
matter how handsome she might have been, taking the 
place of my wife in my affections — NEVER. 

I like to cut up and have a little fun with women as 
well as men, and the more lively a woman is, and the 
more plump and handsome she is, the better I enjoy her 
company, but that is as far as it ever went with me. 

I love my wife today and enjoy her society more than 
the first day I met her, with her beaded waist and dapper 
sealskin jacket. Yes, I am like the sunflower in the 
song. I look upon my dear old sweetheart today, in the 
sundown of life, with the same look that I did when we 
first met, in the sunrise of life. 

Ever since I have been down at Cudahy I have 
made it a point to walk to the city once or twice a 
year from Cudahy, a distance of about seven miles. 
When I first began it the fellows used to josh me, say- 
ing I was doing it so that I could say Cudahy was only 
a nice walk from the city, using my walk as an ad to 



262 Patrick Cudahy 

Cudahy lots. I walked in last Saturday, a distance of 
seven miles, in two hours and five minutes, and felt 
fine. Pretty good for an old fellow, eh? 

It happened to be my lot to live all my lifetime, 
until I moved over on the east side, in the Jesuits' 
parish, and by the way, I want to say here, that the 
non-Catholics do not understand the Jesuits. Most 
protestants associate them with the early day Jesuit 
of France, that had a hand in politics and everything 
else that was going on. All the Jesuits that I have 
come in contact with are fine, clean, up-to-date men, 
who attend strictly to their own business. They are 
an order or community of educators and are good 
ones. 

The same mistake that non-catholics make about 
Jesuits is made by some catholics about Free Masons. 
They associate them with the Free Masons of old and 
look upon them as their dreaded enemies, whereas the 
Free Masons, at least so far as this country is 
concerned and as I know them, are as fine a lot of 
men as you could find. Think the main object of the 
society is sociability. Presume there is some bond of 
union between them that calls for one member to 
assist another. 

I myself do not believe in any kind of secret 
societies. I believe if a man is married his home 
should be his lodge after his supper. Some men. 
particularly catholics, seem to think that they are at 
a great disadvantage in not belonging to the Masons. 
I do not look at it that way. I never joined a secret 
society of any kind and I think I have held my own 



His Life 263 

with any of them. But that is enough about this sort 
of thing. 

Let's get back. As I said awhile ago, I always 
lived in the Jesuits' parish and about the time we 
moved into our Grand Avenue residence, there came 
to Milwaukee a group of fine young Jesuits. Among 
them was a Father Fitzgerald. He used to visit our 
house, play with the children, chat, and occasionally 
spend an evening. Lie was a great orator. I could 
listen to him preach and enjoy it more than any con- 
cert I ever attended. He was of the new school. His 
aim was to enlighten. There was none of that hell 
fire, seven devils, and all that kind of stuff which some 
of the old heads used to make use of to frighten 
people. I became very much attached to him. 

But it is a Jesuit rule not to leave a man very long 
in a. place, so after he was with us about four years, 
he was ordered to pack up and go to some other city. 
I regretted very much to have him go. Thought it 
would be a nice thing to give him a serenade before 
he left. I mentioned it to the members of our card 
club one evening, thought we might chip in, hire a 
band and give him a good send off. There was only 
one in the crowd that seemed to endorse the sugges- 
tion. I went on myself, hired a brass band and the 
band assembled in front of the college about eight 
o'clock in the evening and began their music. 

Father Fitzgerald happened to be down at old St. 
Gaul's Church at the time, but came up after we had 
been making Rome howl for about half an hour. In 
the meantime several hundred people had gathered 



264 Patrick Cudaiiy 



about to hear the music. Nobody knew what it all 
meant. Father Fitzgerald got hold of me and asked, 
"What does this all mean?" I said, "I heard you 
were going to leave us and just thought I would show 
how much we appreciated you, before you left us." 
"My goodness, man," said he, "how can I ever explain 
this rumpus to my superior? It will take me the rest 
of the night writing letters explaining this." 

He tried to look disgusted, but I knew he liked it 
all the same. Some time after that he was made 
provincial, or head, of a certain portion of the order. 
He was an over sensitive man, took responsibility too 
serious and became a nervous wreck. They sent him 
back to Milwaukee, where he acted as pastor of the 
Gesu Church for a number of years, where he died at 
the age of sixty-two. 

I said to him one day, when chatting with him, 
"I would give a lot to have the faith that you have." 
"Why," said he, "haven't you?" I said, "No. I can- 
not feel and talk about heaven in the same way that 
I can about Chicago, New York, or London, and I 
think you can." "Well," said he, "If I did not feel^ 
that way, I would feel that I was one of the greatest 
fools that ever lived, to live the life that I have been 
living." The meaning of that was the rigid discipline 
of the Jesuit life, the order being founded on military 
lines. Obedience is one of their principal vows. When 
their general gives his command, they all bow their 
heads. 

I also used to joke him, saying that I wanted him 
to go first, so that I would have a friend in court when 
it came my turn to knock at the gate. 



His Life 265 

The following is one of my crude rhymes I com- 
posed after his death. It expresses my feelings 
toward him if nothing more : 

Dear and kind Father Fitzgerald, 
He was our good Herald 
Of great tidings of joy, 
To old man and young boy. 

When on a Merry Christmas morning, 
Hours before the time of dawning, 
He spoke the message of Peace and Good Will, 
And the tale of the Infant, joyful still. 

About the terrors of hell. 
He was too kind to tell. 
He'd a much better plan. 
For the uplifting of man. 

He preached hope and good cheer, 
Not darkness and fear. 
He always aimed to enlighten. 
And ne'er tried to frighten. 

And if the number in heaven. 
Be but one hundred and eleven, 
I am sure he is there. 
With his rough tousled hair. 

Pray for him ? Not I, 

Pray to him, I'll try, 

For he was Perfection, 

Or the word has no definition. 

Following up this talk about the Jesuits. Just 
after the Gesu Church was built, the subscription list 
was passed around. I think three men of the parish 
went down for five thousand dollars each and I in- 
tended to do likewise, but an old chum of mine, a Mr. 
C, got after me and jollied me up to putting my name 
down for six thousand dollars. However, I stipu- 



266 Patrick Cudahy 



lated it was to be paid in installments of five hundred 
each for twelve years. I figured that, if I were to 
give five thousand down then, it would not be more 
than three or four years when they would be after me 
again, and the way I fixed it I would have a standing 
excuse to offset any further subscriptions. 

Soon after I had subscribed the 1893 panic set in, 
and the priest in charge began to fear as to whether 
or not I would be able to make good. He conferred 
with one of his friends, who was a narrow-minded, 
envious kind of a fellow, who would probably delight 
in seeing me go into bankruptcy. What he said I do 
not know, but after leaving him Father F. called on 
me. He looked rather sheepish, stuttered and 
mouthed his words, but when he got through I under- 
stood that he proposed to compromise with me. He 
said he would prefer a smaller subscription, say one- 
third of what I had subscribed, to be paid immediate- 
ly. In other words, he thought I was going under 
and he thought he had better take what he could get. 
It hit me pretty hard to have him talk as he did, for 
he was the first one to intimate any mistrust in my 
ability to pull through. But I held myself well under 
control. I told him I would do just what I had agreed 
to do and nothing else. I said I subscribed for six 
thousand dollars and the church will get every dollar 
of it, and it did, but I had the pleasure of paying the 
greater part of it to my old friend. Father Fitzgerald, 
who took charge of affairs a little later on. 

Father F. always felt cheap about the position he 
took with me and generally avoided meeting me 
whenever he visited Milwaukee afterward. How- 



His Life 2G7 

ever, the Jesuits, as a rule, are broad gauged good 
fellows. One of them who is here now, a Father 
Shyne, is a fine man. He has taken a special interest 
in my son, C. J., and I feel that it is through his in- 
fluence and advice that the young man has done so 
well. 

Father Shyne was formerly a missionary priest. 
He traveled about from city to city, preaching and 
exhorting, gathering in the sheep that had strayed 
from the straight and narrow path, those that got out 
among the thorns and had their shins scratched, also 
any he could catch from his separated brethren's 
folds. His health gave out and he has been laid up 
for repairs in Milwaukee now for a couple of years, 
but he is still at his old tricks. I composed and mailed 
him the following rhyme the other day: 

Father Shyne. 

In Milwaukee lives an eminent divine, 
He is our own dear Father Shyne. 
He is a jolly interesting chum. 
Who never tastes a drop of rum. 

But it is the general belief, 
That he is something of a thief. 
They say he has stolen many sheep 
From other pious shepherds' keep. 

And when he has them in his fold, 
And on them has a firm hold, 
He sprinkles them with holy water 
And places their heads in a Catholic halter, 

Now what do you think St. Peter will say, 
When Shyne appears on the last day? 
Will he consider it all a square deal. 
Or wave him back, saying, "A steal's a steal?" 



CHAPTER XII. 

I look upon the half a century of my life, about 
which I have been talking, as a very eventful one. The 
great Civil War, of course, was the greatest sensation 
of all. The question at issue was whether or not 
slavery was to continue, as well as to grow, in this 
country. The South was in favor and the North op- 
posed to it. It was a question whether the union of 
states was to stand or fall, and it had to be fought out, 
and it certainly was a costly fight, so far as men and 
money were concerned. At one time I think there 
were about two million men in the field. 

I remember well the assassination of the great 
Lincoln. The country was in mourning. All through 
the union states funeral services were held and funeral 
processions acted out. 

In European countries, when they are engaged in 
a war, it is one nation against another, speaking 
different languages, all of them united in defeating 
their opponents. But with us it was a war of brothers. 
It was a war of the same class of people, speaking the 
same language, simply divided by a political question. 
There were men all through the South that were op- 
posed to their own people in the war. The same 
thing held good in the North, there was the copper- 
head whose sympathies w^ere with the South. Neigh- 
bor was abusing neighbor. Internal strife was at high 

269 



270 Patrick Cudahy 



pitch on both sides. I remember well the terrible ac- 
counts of the thousands killed and wounded, as the 
newspaper boys would yell it out for the purpose of 
selling their papers. 

The Americans, or what were commonly called 
the Yankees, were the republicans, or union men. 
They did the talking of preserving the union, etc., but 
most of them remained at home, while the foreigners, 
particularly the Irish, were "agin" the government, 
yet most of them went to war. There was one regi- 
ment, the Twenty-fourth Wisconsin, which was prac- 
tically all Irish, yet probably before they enlisted, a 
good few of them were copperheads. The republi- 
cans got all the credit, but the democrats did most of 
the fighting. 

Although it was a terrible war, I think the result 
was great business extension and great prosperity 
later on. The North was obliged to borrow immense 
sums of money to carry on the war and that, in turn, 
inflated our currency to such an extent that a dollar in 
gold purchased equal to two and one-half dollars in 
paper for some little time after the close of the war. 
Farmers received two or two and one-half dollars a 
bushel for their wheat, paid off their mortgages, 
which were made on a gold basis, with this inflated 
currency, and, of course, the currency being inflated, 
it required that much more of it to fill the position of 
a circulating medium. The resources of the country 
being so great, in a very short time, all this paper was 
redeemed and put the country on a gold basis again. 

It has always been a question with me whether 
this great expansion and prosperity would have taken 
place had it not been for the inflation of the currency. 



His Life 271 

After the Civil War came the Franco-Prussian 
War. When the war was talked of I had such a high 
opinion of the French soldier, caused, I presume by 
the prestige that Napoleon's victories gave to France, 
that I thought it would be easy work for the French 
to defeat the Germans. I had a sort of a mental 
picture of every French soldier standing about six feet 
high, straight as a dart, weighing about two hundred 
pounds, but you can imagine my disappointment, 
when I visited that country later on, and saw the 
slouchy, lazy-looking, undersized Frenchmen, with 
their baggy trousers and big boots. 

When I look back over my life and consider all the 
changes that have taken place since I was a boy, it 
makes me feel that we will soon reach the end of progress, 
yet I suppose that fifty years from now some other 
fellow will be saying the same thing. Still, it does not 
seem possible that there is nearly the room in the next 
fifty years that there was the past fifty years, for pro- 
gress, improvement, and evolution, if one looks back 
fifty years and considers the primitive state of every- 
thing. 

The farmer did his plowing with an ox team and 
horses were used on the roads to haul freight for long- 
distances. I can remember well a train of teams haul- 
ing lead from a lead mine about one hundred miles 
west into Milwaukee. As I have already stated, the 
first railroad out of Milwaukee was started in 1849. 

Farmers cut their grain with what was known as 
cradles, composed of a large blade with a boat shaped 
cradle attached to it and the man who could swing 
one of those cradles commanded high wages. An 



273 Patrick Cudahy 



expert at it would lean forward and bring his cradle 
around, cutting the grain pretty close to the ground, 
while others, who were not so expert, would slash the 
cradle in, cutting very little of the straw below the 
heads where they struck in on the right, then sloping- 
outward until almost the ground with half the stroke 
and coming out at the left again with a little more 
than the heads. One could stand behind them and 
notice a regular dish shaped row, where they had 
passed over the grain. 

Even some resorted to the old fashioned hook. 
This was made with a blade about fourteen inches 
long, by two inches wide with an edge, instead of be- 
ing keen and sharp, was made something like a saw. 
A man took hold of the grain with the left hand and 
then reached down with this hook and cut it ofT at the 
bottom. The grain was bound by hand with a straw 
band and a good deal of the threshing was done on 
the barn floors with a flail. Corn was all planted by 
hand, cut by hand, and husked by hand, potatoes and 
everything else pretty much in the same wa3^ Now. 
of course, there is machinery for doing all this work. 
No need to enumerate all the different kinds of ma- 
chines. 

All that the farmer has to do is to sit on his ma- 
chine and drive his horses. Even the plowing is done 
with sulky plows and quite often you will see a man 
driving a pair of horses, seated on a reaper with a nice 
covered top over his head, something after the style 
of a buggy top. 

All lines of manufacture have progressed equally 
as much, or more than what the farm line has. 



His Life 273 

In olden days the shoemaker was quite a fellow, 
driving pegs and sewing with a last and waxed thread, 
if one wanted a decent pair of boots, one had to get 
them made to order and pay ten or twelve dollars for 
them. The ordinary boot, which working people 
bought, for boots were worn altogether in those days, 
women being the only ones that wore shoes, were 
made out of heavy leather called cowhide. It was so 
thick that where the foot bent at the toes a great big 
wrinkle formed and in a very short time, unless the 
boot was kept thoroughly oiled, there would be a 
crack across the toe. 

Boys generally kicked the toes out of their boots. 
Some genius invented a preventative for that by put- 
ting a piece of copper in the toe of the boot. Those 
boots were called copper-toed boots. The boot was 
also made with a piece of red leather in the front of 
the top of the leg and after a boy got a pair of those 
boots he generally wore his pants in his boots in order 
to show the red tops, until the brilliancy of the red 
wore off. 

The real dude had patent leather boots that came 
up to his knees. He, of course, wore his pants in his 
boots all the time. 

In those days it took at least six months to tan a 
hide so as to make leather of it. Now, thanks to in- 
ventions and improvements, they can tan a hide in a 
week with what is known as the chrome system. 
They also split the hide, making three sheets of 
leather instead of one thick sheet, as then, and the 
shoes today do not crack from the bending. Nowa- 
days there are scarcely any boots worn by men, all 



274 Patrick Cudahy 

shoes, and although the leather is very much thinner, 
the shoes will last three times as long as the old, thick, 
clumsy cowhide boot did then. 

This reminds me of an anecdote I heard a short 
time ago about a judge refusing to admit on the jury 
a man who wore boots at the present time. The 
judge's explanation was that he was afraid the man 
could not be induced to change his mind. 

Talking about machinery for making shoes. I 
strolled into a shoe factory the other day, owned and 
operated by Mr. Weinbrenner. He kindly conducted 
me through the factory, and it certainly was a revela- 
tion. There were machines for every part of the 
work, for cutting out the pieces of leather, nailing the 
soles, sewing machines, button machines, eyelet ma- 
chines, etc., etc. 

One machine that I noticed in particular was a 
machine which drew the leather of the upper part of 
the shoe down around the soles and put several nails 
in it to hold it there, all at the same time. It really 
looked like the work of a human hand. 

Mr. Weinbrenner stated that the capacity of his 
factory was twenty thousand pairs of shoes per day 
and the cost of the labor was seventeen cents per pair. 

There is no need of enumerating the different lines 
of manufacture, as the same progress relatively has 
taken place in each line. 

When my folks crossed the ocean in 1849 steam- 
ships were unknown. Now they are building them 
over eight hundred feet long with six or seven decks, 
equipped with elevators for the accommodation of 
passengers, to save them the labor of climbing stairs. 



His Life 275 

grand dining saloons, with the best food and wine that 
the world affords. So w^hen one sits at a table aboard 
a ship, it is not much different from being at a fine 
banquet. 

It took my people about three months to cross the 
ocean. Now they cross it in a little over four days. 

When locomotives were first used, wood was 
burned. The speed was ten to fifteen miles per hour. 
Now coal or oil is burned, making sixty to seventy 
miles per hour — elegant trains of Pullman cars, fancy 
dining cars, etc., etc. 

When electricity first was discovered everybody 
marveled at the fact that a message could be sent 
from one city to another over a wire. Then some 
genius invented what was know^n as the Gray Printer. 
This was a machine with a wheel of paper tape pass- 
ing through an arrangement and the party operating 
it printed the letters by striking keys. This in turn 
printed the same letters at the other end of the wire 
in some other ofiice. 

We had one of those printers when I was with 
Plankintons, between the office on West Water Street 
and the office in the Menomonee Valley. However, it 
was only in existence for a short time when the tele- 
phone was invented and when it was said that mess- 
ages could be sent by talking into a mouthpiece at one 
end and the party could hear at the other end of the 
wire, a distance of three or four miles. People 
marveled again. Now, of course, the telephone is a 
very old thing and distance does not seem to cut any 
figure and nobody knows whether the wave goes 
through the wire or over the wire, yet we know it is 



276 Patrick Cudahy 



done and feel now that we could not gQt along with- 
out it. 

The latest invention in the line of electricity is the 
wireless telegraph. There was a time not long ago, 
when doctors advised tired business men to take an 
ocean trip, to get away from their business. But the 
genius of man has put an end to this means of rest, 
for the wireless telegraph has made it possible for one 
to get quotations of stocks, wheat, pork, etc., in mid- 
ocean. In fact all of the well equipped steamers of 
the present day issue a morning paper. 

I had the pleasure of making use of this novel and 
up-to-date means of communication not long ago 
while making a trip from Charleston to New York on 
a steamer. Just for the novelty of the thing I sent 
a message to the office, which was delivered a few 
hours after the time I sent it. 

We also have the phonograph, which affords us 
the pleasure of hearing an up-to-date concert in our 
parlors at home, grand opera, or anything we wish to 
turn on. We also can hear the voices of people that 
have been dead for years. 

We have the moving picture machine, whereby, 
for the small amount of twenty-five cents, we can 
travel for an hour or two through Japan, or any other 
part of the world we choose to. 

Then we have stenography — to the average busi- 
ness man one of the greatest boons of all luxuries. 
Formerly pens were made with quills, then the steel 
pen, next the fountain pen, until, at the present time, 
all we have to do is talk. The average business man 
is not any too well trained in the art of making use of 



His Life 277 

words, but the refined young lady to whom he talks 
is. He can put his expressions in his own brusque, 
blunt way and the young lady, if she is the right kind, 
can put a little polish on it. When he wrote with a 
pen, if he had "damn" in his mind, he generally put it 
on paper. Now if he says "damn" while dictating, 
she uses some other word. 

This reminds me of a story about a gentleman on 
the Chicago Board of Trade. It must have been be- 
fore the days of the stenographer, because it is said 
that this particular gentleman told another he feared 
he would have to go to Boston. The other said, 
"What for?" He answered, "Well, if I don't go I will 
have to write four or five letters and I would sooner 
take the train and go down there than to write the 
letters." 

The professional men have made progress as well 
as the manufacturers. The doctor in old times had a 
pill or a powder for all ailments, a different kind for 
each ailment. Now he will tell you that you do not 
require any medicine. He tells you, "Let nature take 
its course. Assist nature as much as you can, and you 
will get well." 

The same thing applies to religion. A preacher of 
one denomination would entertain his people, or 
guarantee them a through ticket, by roasting his 
neighbor, if he happened to be of a different 
denomination. 

I am a Roman Catholic myself and we believe that 
we have got the real thing handed down by Christ 
when he was here on earth. Probably it is so, but 
there have been a great many amendments to the 
original religion since then. 



278 Patrick Cudaiiy 



Religious and race prejudice ran high about the 
time we came to this country, or a short time prior. 
Catholics were not allowed to worship in churches in 
Boston, and I think on account of the Irish race being 
principally Catholics, they came in for their full share 
of persecution. The same prejudice existed among 
the Catholics against their separated brethren, but the 
Protestants being in the majority, and of the more 
wealthy class, were, so to speak, on top. The fact 
that my name was Patrick branded me beyond a 
doubt as an Irish Paddy Catholic, and I tell you, it 
was the worst kind of persecution there was. Now 
and then an Irish fellow would change a letter in his 
name, or hide in some way, but I was not of that type. 
I preferred to show my colors and be called Irish 
Paddy and take the rest of the petty persecutions, and 
I assure you I got plenty of it. 

I remember when I was a boy, of hearing the 
priests describe the tortures of hell. One of the illus- 
trations was that you might light a candle and hold 
your finger over the flame until the incineration pro- 
ceeded far enough to cause the fat to fry from your 
finger. This, of course, was only a fly speck com- 
pared to the tortures that you would suffer in hell. 
Then they would tell you about seven devils and all 
that sort of thing. 

Then another thing I remember them describing, 
about eternity. One illustration was to place a child 
on the shore of the ocean, with a teaspoon in his hand, 
dipping the water out of the ocean into a stream that 
carried it away. The length of time it would take the 
child to dip all of the water out of the ocean, was only 



His Life 279 

a fly speck compared with eternity and the sufferings 
of hell, of course, were eternal. 

But thanks to education and the broadening of 
peoples' minds, how different things are today. In 
that same city, Boston, which in those old days was 
the hotbed of persecution, there is now an Irish 
Catholic mayor. And not long ago an Irish Catholic, 
named Patrick Collins, from Boston, represented this 
country as American consul in one of the large cities 
in England. 

All that method of preaching and the old foolish 
prejudices have practically passed away. The style 
now is to encourage people to do good. We do not 
hear so m.uch about hell or the devil. Protestant 
ministers and Catholic priests associate. It is not long 
since I saw a Presbyterian minister sitting along side 
of Catholic priests at the opening exercises of a 
Catholic school. Let us hope that the good work will 
continue, for what is better than to be able to see good 
wherever it exists. Let us all look through the same 
kind of spectacles. 

People are working more toward good fellowship. 
The old Golden Rule, "Do unto others as you would 
they should do unto you," seems to be more the order 
of the day. 

There is a whispering agitation going on which 
proposes to have but one church and one religion. 
This would certainly be a great accomplishment, but 
fear that it is a long way off. Yet, who knows! We 
are certainly living a pretty fast pace at the present 
time, January nineteenth, 191 1. 



280 Patrick Cudahy 



The automo1)ile I look upon, although a luxury, 
is at the same time a demoralizer. Before the intro- 
duction of the automobile, well to do people took 
great pride in their turn-outs. Often, while visiting 
my brothers in Chicasfo, I enjoyed sitting- on their 
front porches and admiring the fine equipages that 
went by, high stepping, handsome, short-tailed 
horses, with polished harnesses, coachmen and foot- 
men dressed up with their high boots, white pants, 
cockades in their hats — ladies in their victorias or 
open traps, dressed up with fine hats, fancy colored 
parasols — one continuous procession of this kind for 
an hour at a stretch. It was certainly grand. The 
same fine procession could be seen at the Fifth Ave- 
nue Park in New York, only in addition to the fine 
equipages, one would see a number of ladies and 
gentlemen riding horseback there. 

Now all this grand style is done away with. The 
automobile has destroyed it. It is now a question of 
speed only, not style. The ladies we have described 
can now be seen with veils tied down around their 
heads, goggles over their eyes, as they pass through 
the country covered with dust and dirt, looking more 
like the witches in Macbeth than like the dainty 
society lady. 

In addition to this demoralization there is another 
one, which is the craze for people of small means to 
own automobiles. It is a generally understood thing 
that many a man has mortgaged his home in order to 
have one of them. Even farmers, who ought to have 
pride in their horses, are buying automobiles. It has 
added to the cost of living immensely and bankers are 



His Life 281 

now taking the automobile extravagances into ac- 
count as one of the demoralizing situations of the 
day. 

I joined the army of fools myself and bought one. 
Had to do it in self defence. I was always a lover of 
horses and raised a horse that would trot in a little 
better than twenty. Enjoyed very much driving him, 
but what was the use. Every time I attempted to 
drive in the country I was tooted into the ditch by 
one of those things, either coming up behind me or 
toward me. 

If I had my way about it I would tax every auto- 
mobile in the country twenty-five dollars a year and 
apply the money to making good wide roads for them, 
but instead of the automobile owners being willing to 
do such a thing as this, whenever there is a bill tend- 
ing that way introduced at Madison, their hired at- 
torney is there to fight it. The farmers and pioneers 
of the country went out into the wilds, chopped down 
the trees, tilled the land, made the roads. Now the 
speed dude, with his goggles on his eyes, leather cap 
and immense leather gloves and long, loose auto- 
mobile coat, comes out from the city with his sixty- 
mile an hour machine and drives the farmer off the 
road he built, into the ditch and will hardly look over 
his shoulder to see whether the farmer's horses ran 
away or not. 

I have said about all there is any use of saying about 
those infernal machines, but if the people of Wisconsin 
were to make me czar of the state, I would abolish them 
entirely. 



282 Patrick Cudahy 



We have progressed also in the meat Hne, but not so 
much, I think, as in other lines. 

When I first took charge of the Plankinton Packing 
House the labor was all done by hand, yet the quality of 
the laboring man in those days was so much superior to 
the quality of the laboring man of the present day, that 
we did about as much work a day then by hand as we 
do now with a lot of improved machinery. I killed four 
to five thousand hogs a day in the old Plankinton Packing 
House, and did all the labor by hand, while at the present 
time it is hard to get that many killed with our scraping 
machines, etc. Yet the scraping machine was an inno- 
vation, as it saves a lot of hard work. Scraping the hair 
off the hogs as they come out of the scalding water is 
about the hardest work about the place. The scraping 
machine, which was invented in about the year 1880, 
does the work of about twenty men and does it fully as 
well. Then we have the casing cleaning machine, which 
is a very valuable machine, cleaning the casings fully as 
well, or better than had been done by hand. The end- 
less chain for conveying hogs along is also quite a benefit. 
The circle saw and the band saw also work in well. The 
machine for cleaning pigs feet is a good one. There is 
also a lot of good machinery used in the way of cooling 
lard, agitating it, etc. And the ice machine, of course, is 
the greatest benefit of all, as it makes it possible for us 
to slaughter the year round. In early days it was a win- 
ter business, while now it is an all-year-round business. 

The farmers have also become educated to breeding 
and raising hogs for market every day in the year, so 
instead of seasons, now it is an every day business. 



His Life 283 

I think the greatest improvement of all in our line, 
however, is in the process of curing. When I was a boy, 
it was the proper thing to pile up meat, well coated with 
salt — we will say a pile of shoulders — and in about two 
weeks' time turn those shoudlers over and resalt them. 
The superintendent passed through the curing cellar and 
if he saw any bare spots on the shoulders, he would call 
the cellar-man's attention to it and tell him those shoul- 
ders had better be resalted. This process continued as 
long as the shoulders would take any salt, in fact, until 
the meat became as salty as the salt itself. When a cook 
or housewife went to cook a piece of one of those shoul- 
ders she had to soak the meat in water and parboil it in 
order to get the salt out of it, to make it fit to eat. Other- 
wise it was about like eating a piece of salt. The salt also 
had the effect of purging out all of the red liquid, or 
juice of the meat. 

We finally learned that all that was necessary was to 
put on sufficient salt to cure the meat, so it would not 
ferment, or become tainted, and by experimenting it was 
discovered that about six to eight pounds of salt was all 
that was necessary to cure a hundred pounds of meat. 

Strange thing about meat; you can put just what salt 
is necessary on a shoulder, we will say, and leave it in a 
cold cellar and that salt will dissolve and penetrate into 
the meat in about eight days. Then if you were to cut 
that shoulder in two, you would find that the salt was 
only in the surface of the meat, probably about a half 
inch down. But by allowing it to remain for about thirty 
days, the cure becomes equal all through the shoulder and 
the center is cured as well as the outside, making it all 
a nice mild cure. 



284 Patrick Cudahy 



Saltpeter is not necessary for cure. It is supposed to 
improve the color of the lean, giving it a bright red color. 

At the present time we cure all our English meat as I 
have just described, putting sufficient salt on the green 
meat and giving it plenty of time to equalize. It is then 
packed in boxes with a very thin coating of borax dusted 
over the meat to keep it from sliming. Or, in other 
words, to close the pores and keep the meat in the con- 
dition it was when it left the curing cellar. 

The making of sausage by the packers was begun 
along about the year 1875. Up to that time such a thing 
as a sausage room attached to a packing house was not 
thought of. Retail butchers made their own sausage and 
it was generally quite expensive, but the packers found 
that there were a great many small pieces of good whole- 
some meat going to waste that could be worked into sau- 
sage, and finally got to making it, and they sold it at such 
a price that the retail butchers practically gave up mak- 
ing it and bought it from the packers. They could buy it 
much cheaper than they could make it themselves. 

We, ourselves, at the present time, are making a total 
of a carload a day. We make smoked bologna, liver 
sausage, ''wiener wurst," head cheese, pork sausage, as 
well as two or three kinds of summer sausage. 

The cleaning of pigs feet was another thing that was 
added. We clean fully half of our pigs feet now and are 
making a very nice pickled goods, or souse. In early 
days they all went into the tank and made grease and 
glue. 

We also have a glue factory attached to our packing 
house at the present time. After cooking all the bones 
and by-product sufficiently to get the grease out of them, 



His Life 285 

the liquid is run over to the glue factory and made into a 
very nice bone glue. 

In fact, an up-to-date packing house at the present 
time makes use of all by-product. They tell a story about 
a colored boy acting as a guide, taking a party through 
one of the packing houses in Kansas City. After describ- 
ing what use everything was put to, one of the visitors 
remarked, ''You make use of about everything that comes 
from a hog." "Yes," said the boy, "everything but the 
squeal, sah," And the latest is that they are going to 
make use of that in the phonograph. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

I now have to relate the saddest tale of all, for about 
as I had this story of mine finished, my oldest brother, 
the man that I loved and revered so much, was taken sick 
and died. My last chat with him was in September, 
1910. After talking over business and things in a gen- 
eral way, we parted, he stating he was going to see a 
doctor and I was on the way to take the train for Mil- 
waukee. Although not looking quite his robust self, for 
things had not been going just right with him for six 
months or a year prior to that time, and he showed the 
effects of it, he was still a big powerful man. 

He visited the Virginia Hot Springs, hoping to re- 
cuperate, but after being there about six weeks, returned 
and was stricken with paralysis. He had the best doc- 
tors in Chicago and they were quite hopeful of his 
recovery. 

After being confined to his bed about two weeks, he 
attempted to sit up, when it was discovered that he had 
appendicitis. He was taken to the Mercy Hospital, oper- 
ated on and died. 

It is not often that a prominent man is better spoken 
of by the people and the press than what he was after his 
death. Two of the most prominent papers in Chicago 
had most flattering editorials on his career as a business 
man and a citizen. 

287 



288 Patrick Cudahy 



Among the honorary pall bearers are numbered about 
fifty of Chicago's most prominent business and profes- 
sional men. He was buried in Calvary Cemetery, De- 
cember 2d, 1910. The memory of his good deeds and 
kind acts shall always live with me. 

(Clipping from The Chicago Record-Herald Nov. 29, 
1910.) 

"It is held by some pessimists that there is no longer 
room at the top. They say that there is practically no 
chance for the poor boy to rise to the head of aft airs be- 
cause of the changed conditions of modern business. 
However that may be, one who did achieve this result 
has passed away in the death of Michael Cudahy. From 
the most modest beginnings the poor Irish boy, who v^as 
later to become the influential manufacturer and mer- 
chant, triumphed over all obstacles in his way and set an 
example of success won without double dealing or un- 
fair advantage over any man. 

With none of the advantages open to the youths of 
today who can prepare for a business career as the sequel 
to a college education leading directly to that end, Mr. 
Cudahy applied to the tasks and problems he encountered 
a native, commercial sense which his perspicacity de- 
veloped with years. He found the packing business of 
the west practically in its beginnings, a vast, untried field 
of commercial endeavor with no precedents to guide those 
engaged in it. He, Armour, and a few others were 
nearly the only ones to perceive what great things its 
future held. To him. as much as to any other, is due the 
credit for the marvelous development of that industry 
which is now one of the worlds wonders. 



His Life 289 

The success which he accomplished as an employee he 
bettered as an employer, and with the acquirement of 
power and position he never forgot those who worked as 
he once had — for a wage. Nor did he ignore the worthy 
claims which are made upon success. He held his wealth 
in trust and gave of his store to charity. He bore him- 
self towards society with consideration and a real sense 
of brotherhood. His life furnishes a good example to 
the rising generation as a business man and a citizen." 

(Clipping from the Chicago Evening Post.) 
MICHAEL CUD AH Y 

"In the last few years Chicago has lost many conspic- 
uous members of the older generation, and now^ another 
oak has been felled in Michael Cudahy. A quiet but 
powerful personality, Mr. Cudahy was honorably known 
in business, and the tributes that have been paid to him 
by his associates and rivals have been distinguished by 
their warmth. He won not only men's respect, but their 
enduring affection. 

Measured by any standard, Mr. Cudahy made a big 
success, but the quality of success is what really counts 
at the end, and in this case the quality deserves emphasis. 
The son of poor Irish immigrants, Mr. Cudahy inherited 
evidently admirable qualities. He rose by unusual pow- 
ers of perseverance and organization. At the right mo- 
ment he struck out for himself, and in more than one 
crisis he proved his business acumen, responsibility and 
courage. 

Publicly Mr. Cudahy did not assert himself, although 
he was prominent in the Roman Catholic Church, and al- 



290 Patrick Cudahy 



ways ready to be enlisted in the cause of Ireland. As in 
the case of many others of his generation, it was in his 
private life that this rich man showed social conscience. 
His kindness to men in trouble was known to few out- 
siders, but he shone in kindness. As a man he had a 
charming naturalness and simplicity. He was fond of 
simple things, with an increasing pleasure in reading and 
in quiet travel in his later years. His success was a real 
one — a success in which the desire to do right was al- 
ways a guiding desire, and one in which the human side 
of the man was matured to the very end of an admirable 
hfe." 



iUU .^<7 ts\£. 



